


Kinksgiving 2020

by DarkBard



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Gaping, Angst, Asexual Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Bondage, Breeding, Breeding Kink, Captivity, Cock & Ball Torture, Cock Cages, Come Inflation, Come play, Consensual Non-Consent, Consensual Sex, Crossbreeding, Dark Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dissociation, Dom/sub Play, Dubious Consent, Extremely Underage, Fluff, Forced Dependence, Forced Infantilism, Fuck Or Die, Genital Humiliation, Gentle Dom Eskel (The Witcher), Humiliation, Implied/Referenced CSA, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Improper Use of Axii (The Witcher), Knotting, Lactation Kink, Light Daddy/Little Play, Magical Bondage, Magical Experimentation, Mentioned Painplay, Mentioned Spanking, Mind Break, Mind Control, Misgendering, Monster breeding, Monsterfucker Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Monsterfucking, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, Pregnancy, Pseudo-Incest, Public Humiliation, Public Masturbation, Rape, Selfcest, Semi-Public Sex, Slut Shaming, Somnophilia, Sounding, Spanking, Sub Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sub Lambert (The Witcher), Temperature Play, Threats of Castration, Trans Eskel (The Witcher), Trans Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Trans Jaskier | Dandelion, Trans Man Lactation, Trans-Specific Humiliation Kink, Underage Rape/Non-con, Urethral Fucking, Urethral Play, Urethral Stretching, Verbal Humiliation, Watersports, Whump, brief mention of a forced hysterectomy, light age play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:41:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 22
Words: 27,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27720865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkBard/pseuds/DarkBard
Summary: Prompt fills for my Kinksgiving celebration! Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Gaetan/Letho z Gulety | Letho of Gulet, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Monster(s), Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 77
Kudos: 384





	1. Jaskier/Trans Man Geralt, Trans-Specific Genital Humiliation

**Author's Note:**

> Please see individual chapter notes for content warnings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _Please more trans man Geralt humiliation! Maybe some talk about how “he’ll never be able to pleasure a woman” or something like that_
> 
> CW: trans-specific genital humiliation (including specific and humiliating references to trans man Geralt's anatomy in highly gendered terms)

“You know, Geralt,” Jaskier says, pinching the sensitive nub of flesh between his thumb and forefinger and examining it critically, “you’ll never be able to pleasure a woman with a pathetic little cocklet like this one.”

Geralt thrusts helplessly into his touch, earning him a sharp swat to the side of his hip. “Now now, none of that.” He squeezes Geralt’s tiny aching member, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to _remind_. “A useless little thing. Why, I’ve seen cocks that have been locked in chastity for years that can’t get hard anymore, can only dribble piteously, and they’d still be more suitable for fucking a woman than you.”

Jaskier shifts between Geralt’s legs, sliding up his body with a grin. “That baby prick isn’t doing anyone any good, is it, love? But luckily not all of you is such a waste.” Jaskier rolls his hips, dragging the swollen head of his cock through Geralt’s wet folds. “Parts of you are quite worthwhile, indeed.”

Geralt whines, his head tucked into the bard’s neck as he bites desperate little kisses into the smooth flesh. “Please, Jaskier.” He jerks to meet Jaskier’s hips in frustrated, abortive motions in an attempt to sheath his lover’s cock within him.

Jaskier laughs, evading Geralt’s best efforts. “Even in spite of that impractical little thing, you can still please a partner, can’t you? You still have something even better, just for me, don’t you, darling?”

“Yes, now _fuck me_ ,” he snarls.

Jaskier tuts, pulling away slightly, enough to make Geralt groan at the loss of contact. “Show me,” he says, an eyebrow raised in challenge, a heated spark in his too-blue eyes. “Show me what that cunt is good for.”

With a growl, Geralt flips them, pinning Jaskier’s hips between his strong thighs, a rough hand pressed to his chest. In a single, fluid motion, he sinks down the length of Jaskier’s cock, gold eyes fluttering shut as he relishes feeling _full_.

"Perfect," Jaskier breathes.


	2. Geralt/Ciri, noncon, breeding kink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _For the Kinksgiving game, maybe Ciri/Geralt noncon breeding kink with a dash of public humiliation 🥰_
> 
> CW: rape, breeding kink, pseudo-incest, public humiliation, slut shaming

It’s the tits that start it.

She shows them off now, constantly. Geralt’s beginning to wonder if Ciri even realizes there are buttons on her shirt.

Of course she is. She told him herself she leaves her shirts open to distract men from the scar on her face. And what men is she seeing but Geralt as they travel through the countryside together?

If she didn’t want him looking, she’d cover herself.

And so he looks.

Then, he touches.

“Umm, what the fuck?” She’s laughing, nervous, as Geralt stands behind her, rubbing them through the crimson tunic.

“Do you know how good you’d look with these filled with milk?” he murmurs against her ear, a hand slipping effortlessly into the open neckline and squeezing hard. Against him, her whole body gone’s rigid. “Swollen and tight and sore to the touch? They’d start drooping under the weight, have to rest on your round, solid belly for support.”

She whimpers. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, Geralt, but please…”

“Gonna breed you,” he moans, pressing his rock-hard dick against her ass, arms tightening around her. “Gonna fill you up with my cum, gonna keep you so full until I see this flat little tummy start growing.”

She’s trembling in his arms until he reaches to push down her skin-tight leggings. It sparks something in her, suddenly; she lets out a high-pitched scream as she digs her fingernails into his arm in an attempt to stop him.

He shoves her to the forest floor, and despite her squirming it’s too easy to keep her petite frame pinned beneath him. “Easy,” he reprimands as he quickly unlaces his trousers, giving himself a few quick strokes before he moves between her legs, lines himself up to her entrance and presses inside as she sobs beneath him.

She’s tight and she’s _dry_ , and it should be unpleasant but somehow it rips a moan from him as he buries himself hilt-deep. “Gonna keep you bred all the time,” he grunts, “as soon as you pop out one pup I’ll put another inside you. Keep you nice and fat and full for me, keep your tits nice and milky. My little child of surprise, all grown up and giving me children of her own.”

He hears them before she does, a group of Redanian soldiers approaching on the road not far from where Geralt is taking Ciri mercilessly on the ground. He feels the minute she hears them, the way her whole body tightens, the minty smell of _hope_. “Help!” she screams. “Please help!”

Five soldiers run to the woods and stop immediately at the sight before them. Geralt stares at them, never stopping the brutal pace he’s set in Ciri.

“Please help me,” she begs, sobbing.

The captain takes one last look at Geralt’s savage demeanor, and with a jerk of his head, returns to the main road. Two of his companions follow, but the remaining two linger, eyes running lustily over the crying, dishevelled girl.

“No one’s coming to save you,” he says, grabbing her and yanking her up to sitting on his cock. He rips open her blouse further, completely exposing her bouncing tits to the onlooking men. One of them palms himself, the other already pulling out his cock. “They just want to watch you get bred, little one. Maybe I should start breeding you in taverns, let everyone see you take my cock and fill you up.” He speeds up, thrusting up into her hard and slamming her down on his cock. “Bet they’d pay to see it. See you get your little cunt sopping with my seed.” 

He comes with a cry, holding her roughly on his cock as he rides out the aftershocks.

With a single glare, the two voyeurs seem to understand that the show’s over, tripping over themselves to run back to their companions.

Geralt pulls out to lay her down gently on the ground, but he quickly moves to scoop up the cum dripping from her wrecked cunt and press it back in. “Don’t want to waste any,” he says, petting her belly longingly as she cries.


	3. Dom Eskel/Sub Geralt/Sub Lambert, bondage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _What do you think about submissives geralt and lambert being tied with their hands behind their backs and made to put on a show for their dom eskel by getting off grinding against each other? Maybe theyre super needy and into it, maybe theyre bashful, doesnt matter, they do what eskel tells them to._
> 
> CW: bondage, BDSM dynamics, a touch of praise kink, because I can't help myself.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Eskel regards him with a blank, unreadable expression. “Say the word and it’s off, no questions asked. You know how it works, Lambert.” He rests a heavy, grounding hand on the younger witcher’s shoulder. “But the word isn’t ‘you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.’ Safeword or don’t, but either way stop being a mouthy brat.”

Lambert has a smart-ass answer for that on the tip of his tongue, Eskel can see it written in every line of his body, but instead he shrugs and keeps his mouth shut, testing the cords binding his wrists behind his back in silence. Good. 

“Any more disrespect from you and there’ll be consequences. So if you want to come any time in the next week I’d advise you to keep your wisecracks to yourself.”

Lambert’s shoulders slump, his eyes on the floor. “Yes, Wolf.”

Eskel’s instinct is to praise him for his capitulation, but he knows better. A firm hand is what Lambert requires, especially when he’s acting out.

Geralt, on the other hand…

Naked, kneeling, completely still, hands tied behind his back, head bowed in perfect deference. Relaxed, as though the posture is the most natural thing in the world.

Perhaps to Geralt it is.

Eskel runs his hand through the loose white tresses, scratching gently at his scalp. “So good for me, Wolf,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

The only visible reaction is the fluttering of pale lashes as his downcast eyes close for a moment, basking in the praise.

Eskel stretches back on the chaise, surveying his two witchers kneeling facing each other on the floor before the fireplace. “I want to see my wolves enjoy themselves,” he says, palming himself lightly through his smooth trousers. “Wanna watch my boys come just from grinding off on each other.”

As ever, Geralt obeys immediately. He’s soft, still, but he ruts vigorously against Lambert, firelight highlighting the defined thighs and backside as muscles shift beneath scarred skin. Lambert is already half-hard– _ always _ half-hard from the minute Eskel ties him–but he’s shyer with his pleasure. He buries his face in Geralt’s neck, thrusting ineffectually against him.

They slide together, Geralt’s prick swelling to life as Lambert’s–slender in comparison, but gods, so excitable–drags against him, his red, dripping head smearing precome in its wake. They experiment with their thrusts, tentative and aggressive in turn until they find a rhythm, trapping their cocks between hard abdomens.

“There you are.” Eskel watches them, captivated. “There you go, Lambert. Let him feel you.”

Lambert lets out a needy, desperate whine, hips stuttering forward faster. Geralt’s face is blissfully blank, eyes soft, mouth open, letting out breathy little pants. Eskel smiles at each little moan.

“My wolves, so good for me, so gorgeous together.” Eskel sees the way Lambert’s biting down hard on his bottom lip, his motions becoming more and more tense. He’s getting close. “You can come whenever you need to. You’ve earned it, doing such a good job, put on such a nice show for me.”

Lambert cries out, a keening, broken noise as he spills across their bellies. He melts forward onto Geralt, boneless in the aftermath of his pleasure, whining piteously as Geralt continues to rut against his spent cock.

“Come on, pretty boy,” Lambert mutters in a tone that might have been jeering but for the breathless adoration he can’t quite disguise, “come for our Wolf.”

Lambert’s plea causes Geralt to raise his eyes hopefully to Eskel, who’s beaming at him, his cock in his hand as he strokes in time to their thrusts. The White Wolf comes with a harsh, grating groan, heaving breaths and tremors wracking his whole beautiful body.

“Perfect,” Eskel moans, “both such good pups for me. Feel good?” He moves to the edge of the chaise, fisting his cock at a leisurely pace. “You can show your appreciation, if you like.”

It’s awkward, crawling on their knees with hands still bound, but it’s only seconds before two warm, wet mouths worship his cock in tandem. He pets their hair tenderly, releasing a long breath with a smile.


	4. Geralt/Jaskier, dissociation, PTSD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _jaskier dissociating while geralt fucks him, please? ❤_
> 
> CW: dissociation during sex, PTSD, obliquely referenced past childhood sexual trauma, consent issues/dubious consent

There are two men fucking in a bed.

The scent of wine and breath and sex swirl and dance about him like a half-remembered perfume. 

There are two men fucking in a bed, and Julian isn’t here. He’s in a corner, somewhere. He can see them, hear them, but he isn’t here.

Maybe he was never here at all.

Not Julian. Jaskier, now.

He doesn’t want to watch but can’t look away.

White hair. An old man.

No, not old, not so old. Not young, either. He just is.

_Geralt_ , some voice provides. Of course. Jaskier knows Geralt.

Geralt is fucking into a body without a soul inside and hasn’t even noticed. He’s pulling the body’s hips up, pulling him to his knees. It’s a better angle this way. He can fuck in deeper. 

_ Stay still, Julian. _

With the head shoved into the pillow, it’s easier to hide that there’s no one there.

_ Keep your voice down, Julian. You want your parents to see you like this? _

“Jaskier?”

The couple on the bed stills.

“Jaskier?” A rough, calloused hand pets along the stretched back, rubbing his shoulders gently. “You still with me?”

_ Not here. Not anywhere. _

The slow rattle of a breath. A muffled voice from the pillow that sounds like his but isn’t. “Keep going.”

Geralt hesitates.

The body in the bed rocks backwards, shoving itself back on the witcher’s hard cock. “Fuck me harder.” The voice that’s like his but isn’t sounds impatient.

_ Don’t listen_, Julian screams. _There’s no one there._

The witcher starts thrusting in the body in the bed, hard.

Julian waits, in a corner somewhere, nowhere at all. What else is there to do?


	5. Trans Geralt/Trans Jaskier, fuck-or-die noncon, double-sided dildo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _Double transmasc humiliation! Both Geralt and jaskier are trans masc, captured and forced to use a double headed dildo for their captors entertainment._
> 
> CW: fuck-or-die, noncon, public humiliation, trans-specific humiliation, misgendering, whump

“Leave him be!”

The rogue knight who seems to be the leader snorts in derision at Geralt’s demand, the others laughing. They show no signs of stopping ripping and cutting the shirt off the boy. Jaskier. The pretty bard with the pretty flower name.

The boy who’s never once seemed frightened of him in their weeks of traveling together. Who hadn’t even been frightened of captors until they started pulling off articles of clothing. Now he reeks of terror.

“What’s this?”

Jaskier’s blood is pounding so loudly Geralt can barely hear anything else. The man cuts through the tight-bound fabric across his chest, and the boy lets out an uncharacteristic sob.

Geralt feels an immediate twinge of empathy.

He’s known, of course. Figured out the inn in Posada that Jaskier’s like him.

Nothing could have prepared him for this, seeing the bright, confident boy crying, head bowed in shame, desperately tugging at the ropes binding his wrist in a futile bid to cover his exposed, full chest.

“Let him go,” Geralt growls.

“ _Her_ , more like,” one of the men jeers.

They strip Jaskier’s trousers and braies, laughing in triumph when they see his flat front, the dark thatch of hair on his mound.

“Little bardling’s got a cunt.” The knight runs his fingers roughly down Jaskier’s slit.

“Lucky for us, then.”

“Look at the tits on her. Why you covering those up, sweetheart?”

“We should make the witcher fuck her while we watch!”

A roar of approval.

_ Fuck. _

Shoving Jaskier to the other men who waste no time fondling him, the knight and two of the others move to Geralt, pulling off and ripping clothing with little regard. They pay no attention when he’s shirtless–what are two more scars on a body laden with them–but when he’s completely naked, a hush falls over the room.

“A woman witcher,” breathes the knight. “What a rare pair we’ve stumbled upon, lads.”

“Both these freaks need a cock to straighten them out.”

“Remind these cunts what they are.”

“At least the bard girl is a pretty thing, instead of this ugly old mutant cunt.”

“Want my cock, sweet thing? Want to suck me off?

“Enough.” Silence falls as all eyes lock on the knight. “Keep it in your trousers. I know just the thing for these two.”

Geralt hazards a glance at Jaskier. The boy’s staring at him in wonder, despite the hands on him. For just a moment, his shame, his panic for what’s to come is mitigated by this recognition.

Geralt gives him the tiniest of nods in understanding.

“Here we are,” the knight says. He holds up a long, thick, wooden phallus, flared cockheads carved on each end.

“Age before beauty.” They shove Geralt to the ground on his knees, lurching forward helplessly when they push his torso down. He feels the toy at his entrance, and he feels sick but he pushes it down, pushes it down and goes blank, as blank as he can.

He feels it move within him. He tries not to feel anything at all.

Jostling. The angry jeers of the men. Jaskier’s sobs.

Geralt is grabbed by the hair and shoved unceremoniously between Jaskier’s legs.

“Little cunt’s too tight for the stick. Get her nice and wet and ready, witcher.”

“Fuck you,” he spits out.

The blade is cold when it touches his throat. “Get your little friend ready. It’ll go easier on her that way. Unless you’d rather we make it fit, cut that hole a little bigger.”

He looks up at Jaskier’s tear-filled eyes. _Forgive me, bard_. He leans in and begins to lap at his genitals.

It’s not the best head he’s ever given, not by half, but technique is less important than getting Jaskier as prepared as possible to take the phallus, and Geralt doubts very much they’ll give him time to be thorough. He licks and spits and sucks, breathing a little sigh of relief when he tastes Jaskier begin to respond to him, slick mixing with saliva.

Barely any time seems to pass before they’re pulling him away, shoving him back into position. He feels the moment the phallus breaches Jaskier, feels it and hears it and tastes the new release of tears in the air.

“Fuck each other!”

“Put on a show for us!”

“Show us how much you want that cock.”

They begin to move, slowly, attempting to find a rhythm as they both press back into the toy. Geralt tries to ignore the number of men who’ve pulled their cocks out, who stroke themselves as they shout obscenities, but it’s harder to ignore when their hot, filthy seed drips onto his skin.

Behind him, Jaskier has gone silent, overwhelmed by the evening’s horror.

Geralt closes his eyes. It’s going to be a long night.


	6. Letho/Gaetan, gaping, cum inflation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gaetan/Letho or Jaskier/Wolf Witchers. Gaping hole and cum inflation

“Look at you, Cat.”

Gaetan lets out a wretched whine as the cock slides out of him, desperately clenching to keep the cum inside.

Huge hands grab his hips, pulling him up until he’s balanced on his shoulders, legs in the air, ass and back leaned against Letho’s powerful torso. Gaetan’s used to being the strongest man in any room, and being manhandled like a child makes his spent dick twitch involuntarily.

He can feel the Viper’s gravely chuckle vibrating against him. “Don’t know if this hole is gonna be able to close back after taking me, Cat. Look how open you are.” Thick fingers prod at his swollen, gaping rim, dipping inside, dragging cum-soaked fingers across his taint, balls, cock, until they rest on his lower belly. Letho’s groans. “You feel how full I’ve stuffed you?

“Yeah.”

“Don’t think you do. Not really.” Letho grabs Gaetan’s hand and drags it to his protruding belly, both of them moaning as he presses their hands into the bulge. “Feel that? Only thing tight on you right now is your belly’s skin. Just three loads and you’re already showing.”

Impossibly, Gaetan feels the Viper’s massive cock stiffening again against his back. “Fuck, Letho.”

“What do you think, Cat?” He leans toward him, a teasing smirk on his broad, scarred face. “You think you can fit one more load?”

And Gaetan, well...he’s never been one to turn down a challenge. “ _Make_ it fit.”


	7. Geralt/Underage Jaskier, noncon, knotting, breeding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on two prompts: _Geralt x underage!Jaskier & noncon knotting would be a t r e a t / Geralt/Jaskier breeding kink with Jaskier underage._
> 
> CW: underage, noncon, knotting, breeding, painful sex

The boy beneath him wails.

Geralt groans at the sound, at the way the already too tight hole clenches even harder around him in protest. He’d felt it a few moments before—that slow-building pressure in the base of his cock, the muscle spasms right before the expansion starts, the sudden pleasure like jolts of electricity—but now he knows Julian feels it, too.

He pushes the boy’s legs (long legs, with the first wisps of dark hair growing in) flush to his chest, giving him a better view of the puffy red hole clamping like a vice around the slowly swelling knot, still small enough to fuck in and out of him.

“Why’s...why’s it feel like that?” The boy’s voice cracks indelicately. In other circumstances, Geralt’s sure he would be mortified.

“You ever been knotted before?”

Julian shakes his head miserably, tears collecting in the corners of sea-blue eyes.

“Gotta plug you up,” Geralt moans, leaning down to mouth at the boy’s soft neck. “The knot keeps my cum inside you, gives it time to take root. Gonna fill you up my seed, breed you full of little ones.”

“Please no,” he whimpers. “Please, please it  _ hurts _ .”

The knot is nearly full. Geralt plants himself within Julian, feels the rush of pleasure as his buried cock pumps a flood of hot cum in the tight, incredible warmth.

He reaches a hand between them, where Julian’s small cock strains against him, and lazily begins stroking him off. They have time; the knot will hold for quite a while yet.


	8. Yennefer/Trans Jaskier, consensual nonconsent, bondage, breeding kink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _Hmm, okay what about CNC with transmasc Jaskier and partner(s) of your choice. Perhaps with a dash of breeding kink?_
> 
> CW: consensual nonconsent, magical bondage, breeding kink in a transmasculine context, a touch of genital humiliation, slut shaming, some impact play (face slapping)

Quite inexplicably, Jaskier finds he can’t move.

He’s pinned to a chair at the small desk in the corner of his rented room at a Temerian inn, quill stilled only inches above the page, the ink slowly dripping into a blot on a sheet of half-finished lyrics.

The door slams open behind him, and a chill runs down Jaskier’s spine.Travelling alone has never been his preference, but to know that someone (some _thing_?) has trapped him here without even the possibility of Geralt coming to his rescue brings a fresh wave of terror, until the scent of lilac and gooseberries wafts through the air. Jaskier takes a deep breath—as deep a breath as he finds he can take, given his current magically fixed state—and tries to calm himself.

His heart is still racing.

Yennefer sits gracefully on the desk, crossing her legs beneath an elegant gown of black satin. “Jaskier,” she says with a deadly smile.

“Yennefer. What the fuck are you doing here?”

She brushes a strand of hair back from his face. “I saw your whorish little performance down there. Do you always make sure your audience knows you’re peddling your body as well as your songs?” She leans forward, immaculate red lips a whisper away from his ear. “Your word?” It’s practically a purr.

“Nenneke,” he answers immediately. 

She rolls her eyes, but there’s an amused smirk on the corner of her lip. “Nenneke, then.”

They’ve played like this before, a few times, but never with her specifically seeking him out for it. It’s a little intoxicating.

Long nails rake through his hair and tug, hard. The invisible weight pinning him down releases as she shoves him toward the bed.

“Clothes off, bard.”

He tries to maintain his dignity as he stumbles. “You want them off, maybe you should take them,” he spits out, then immediately feels his body trapped again.

“Boys who want control of their limbs shouldn’t talk back.” She crosses to him, pulling the thin linen shirt over his head—his arms don’t seem to have any trouble moving when she’s the one moving them—then unlacing his trousers, dropping them to the floor. Long fingernails leave burning red lines across his chest. He swallows, trying to rid himself of the lump in his throat, the tension in his stomach as he tries to anticipate her next move.

She drinks in his body, a carefully bored expression that does nothing to change the hungry look in those violet eyes. “Look at you,” she murmurs. “Resist all you want, you can’t fool me. Your cunt is already dripping for me, isn’t it?”

It is, the traitor. Jaskier doesn’t answer, but that’s answer enough.

“Oh, Jaskier, Jaskier,” she laughs, “ever the slut.” She sits on the edge of the bed as Jaskier is hauled by the invisible force to face her. “Although to be honest, I’m far more interested in the state of my own cunt than yours. Kneel.”

He’s on his knees before her as she hikes the dress up smooth tawny thighs. That sharp hand in his hair dragging him to her, forcing his mouth to her pussy. 

He mouths her folds, pointedly avoiding her clit in the process.

“Gods, you’re a bastard,” she huffs, chasing his mouth with a roll of her hips and a smarting slap to his cheek. “Eat my cunt like you know how to do it. I assure you you won’t enjoy it if you disappoint me.”

With her rough, controlling hand in his hair, he obliges, showering attention to her clit, licking and suckling at her. He services her skillfully, attentively, until she takes over with a moan. She rocks against him hard, riding his face with abandon until she comes, a wet trickle running down his chin when she pushes him away.

He sits on his knees, awaiting her next command. The stillness that comes with Yennefer’s magic burns in him; normally Jaskier can’t help fidgeting, but without that option, without the physical outlet for his anxieties, the energy seems to build into something terrible, monstrous.

Yennefer moves from the bed, walking behind him. He feels her eyes on him as he stares straight ahead at the rumpled bed linens.

“I’ve a surprise for you.”

He works to steady his breathing, listening to her movements about the room. A rustling of clothing, fumbling in a bag, the soft clap of leather. “To me, Jaskier.”

The tingling force compels him to turn to her again, his mouth falling agape in spite of himself.

Yennefer has discarded the long gown, leaving only an ornate, structured black bodice girding her like armor but for the open laces displaying the tops of perfect breasts. Around her hips is slung a black leather harness, holding in place a graceful, huge phallus of white marble.

She strokes her new member lazily, eyes locked on his. She walks toward him, an unpleasant smile on her lovely face.

The cock is cold against his lips.

“Suck,” she orders.

His eyes flutter closed as he ignores the command. Her hand stings when it makes contact with his face, harder than the last, and his little cock _throbs_.

“You do realize, bard,” she says, her voice gone cold, “that this is a kindness to you. One last chance. Suck.”

He opens his mouth tentatively, licking at the smooth head.

Yennefer thrusts forward so hard he wretches around the toy.

“I would have expected an accomplished cocksucker like you to handle a prick a little better than that.” Her voice is pure hateful condescension. “I’m going to fuck your throat, bard. Best relax and take it.”

True to her word, she plants both hands on his head and fucks at a brutal pace.

“I will say you look good on a cock,” she breathes. “And it has the fortuitous side effect of keeping you quiet.”

She rips the cock from his throat, leaving him coughing and gagging in her wake. The spell keeps him perfectly upright as he struggles to regain his composure.

“On the bed.”

He actively resists, struggles against the force that comes with her murmured words. No good comes of it; to the outside observer, it would appear that he immediately complied like he had every other time, lying down on the bed.

Yennefer’s violet eyes narrow. Of course she noticed.

“Spread your legs.”

He complies, because he has no other choice, but he doesn’t give her the satisfaction of looking at her.

She doesn’t hesitate to crawl between his legs anyway, running a cold hand from ankle to thigh. “You get quiet like this.”

It’s not a question, but he knows she’s looking for an answer and, most likely, giving him a chance to safeword. “Thought you were looking for ways to shut me up.”

“Always.” She strokes his hip with surprising tenderness before gliding her hand down to the hard nub of flesh, erect and tiny next to the massive marble cock. “It’s a good thing I brought my own prick, isn’t it? Since you fail to provide.” Her fingers run through the wet mess below, dipping briefly inside him. “Do you want my cock, Jaskier?”

The magical weight dissipates rather suddenly, his body twitching to life of its own accord. He opens his mouth to question it until he sees the hungry look in Yennefer’s eyes.

She wants him to struggle.

“Fuck off,” he snarls, but she’s got a hand to his throat before he can shove her off. He squirms, gasping for breath beneath her as she lines the phallus up to his cunt and fucks into him.

He freezes. No magic but her air of authority holds him, and yet he can’t bring himself to move.

“Pathetic,” she moans. “You’re twice my size and can’t stop me even without magic. You know why, don’t you, bard? It’s because you know deep down this is what you’re good for. You know you deserve this.”

“No.” His protest is belied by his hips rocking to greet hers.

“Of course you do. I’m not blind, Jaskier, I saw the way you drooled like a cockdumb whore when you saw the cock I brought you. How do you like it? How does it feel inside you?”

“Fuck,” Jaskier swears, “too big.” That, at least, is true.

“It looks just right to me.” She pulls back, watching the way the marble looks clenched by tight-stretched pink skin. “Gods, this body was made to be fucked, wasn’t it? You should be filled with cock at all times.” Her hips stutter slightly as her thrusts accelerate, Jaskier’s keening whimpers crescendoing. “You’d look good filled with cum, too. Stuffed full and bred like a bitch.”

“Fuck, Yen…”

“I couldn’t do it myself, of course, but it’d be a waste not to use a perfectly good womb.” She slips a hand between them, rubbing roughly at his little cock. “I could bring some man in to fuck a child into you, would you like that? Perhaps several, just to be safe. I could manipulate their movements like I did yours tonight, control their every thrust until I fill you through them, fill you to bursting.”

Jaskier comes with a shout, pushing himself back desperately on the cock. Yennefer works him through it, quietly, stilling upon his first signs of oversensitivity, withdrawing slowly as he relaxes around her.

Jaskier floats weightless above the world, everything a haze of pleasure, contentment.

There’s a blanket covering his shivering body when he returns, a skin of water pressed to his lips when his eyes flicker open. A small hand comb through his hair gently.

“Any pain?” Her voice is low, soothing.

Jaskier stretches experimentally, shaking his head after a moment. “Only the good kind.”

She places a measured, careful kiss to his hair. “I’m glad.”


	9. Geralt/Jaskier, consensual public humiliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _if it interests you: geraskier & public humiliation_

The tavern is packed. Jaskier smiles. It’ll be a good night for tips.

And perhaps a good night for something else.

He follows Geralt as he settles into a booth near the back, slipping in beside him rather than across. The witcher raises an eyebrow, as though he’s about to question it, until his eyes slip down to the curve of Jaskier’s smirk. Geralt wets his lip.

Jaskier grabs the attention of a buxom young barmaid as she passes near.

“Anything I can get you, sirs?”

“Thank you, my sweet lady. I’ll have your soup with bread and a double portion of your beef with potatoes and vegetables for my dear friend.” He pets Geralt’s arm where it rests on the table with a distinctly condescending air. “And ale for us both, please!”

Her eyes flicker between the two of them, Geralt’s head subtly bowed and looking at the table. “Of course,” she says, scurrying back to the kitchen.

Jaskier’s hand slides up his arm casually, coming to rest against the back of his neck. “What do you think, love?” His voice is a low murmur. “Are you going to be my good boy?”

“Yes,” Geralt breathes.

Jaskier beams at him, squeezing the scruff of his neck before dropping his hand beneath the table. Long, clever fingers travel up his thigh, tantalizing, cupping his balls through his trousers before lightly tracing his covered cock.

Geralt muffles a groan as Jaskier fondles him, looking around at their clueless witnesses.

When the barmaid approaches laden with their food and drinks, Jaskier says, “Geralt, help the young lady with all those dishes! There’s a good boy,” as soon as she’s within earshot. Geralt climbs over Jaskier in the booth to follow the command, his erection apparent as he helps the flustered girl set down the dishes.

“Thank you so much!” Jaskier says brightly, sliding further into the booth so Geralt can sit on the outside. Jaskier grabs his fork and immediately commandeers Geralt’s plate, bringing a forkful of food to the witcher’s mouth. “That good, love?”

Geralt nods. “Thank you,” he grumbles, glancing around nervously. 

“You’re so very welcome.” Jaskier smiles, spearing another bite. “Now rub yourself through your trousers, love.” He feeds him the bite, wiping a stray smudge off his lip.

They continue on, Jaskier feeding Geralt and himself in turns as the witcher struggles to maintain his composure. “What do you think they’re all thinking?” Jaskier muses, brazenly making eye contact with a man a table away who’d been watching curiously. “That the big scary witcher can’t eat his meal without help? Or do you think they’ve guessed the truth of it? That you’re my good boy, that you don’t do anything without my permission because you love it, you crave the ease of surrender, knowing that I’ll take care of you?”

Geralt whimpers.

“That’s right, love.” Jaskier drinks the dregs of his soup, wiping the bowl with his bread. “Now take your cock out and stroke yourself, love. Careful, though, don’t want everyone to see you, do you?” He holds a fork full at Geralt’s mouth, smirking at him.

He sighs as Geralt chews the bite, the minute movements of the visible portion of his arms above the table hinting at his hesitant motions below. “That feels lovely, doesn’t it?” He sneaks a hand to cover Geralt’s for a moment, jacking his cock together. “Gods but you’re hard. Not close already, are you, love?”

Geralt shakes his head, but the straining of his jaw betrays him.

Jaskier laughs. “I love how you get off on this. It’s so very lovely, darling.” He thumbs over the head of Geralt’s cock, collecting the bead of precome before casually bringing his hand back above the table, bringing the wetted thumb to Geralt’s lip. “Suck.”

He thinks for a moment Geralt might refuse him when he sees his horrified expression, the darting of his eyes about the room. But after a shaking breath, he quickly opens his lips to Jaskier’s thumb, tongue immediately swiping it clean.

“My perfect boy,” Jaskier marvels, stroking his cheek with the wet thumb, smearing a line of Geralt’s own spit across his face. “So good for me, so obedient even when you don’t want to.” Jaskier sits up a little taller in the booth, straightening his doublet. “Now, I’m going to sing for a while, love. After all, I need to earn some coin if I’m to spoil my darling boy! You’re to keep touching yourself while I perform. You’re not to come, and you’re not to stop, not even if someone comes to the table to speak with you. Understood?”

Geralt gives a terse nod.

“Hmm, afraid I didn’t hear you, love.”

“Yes.”

Jaskier smiles at him. “Wonderful! Wish me luck, darling.” Trapped between the witcher and the wall, Jaskier slips beneath the table, stopping to suckle briefly at the exposed cockhead and earn an audible moan, before sliding out the other side of the booth, grabbing his lute as he heads toward the center of the room.

Gaining the attention of a crowd this large is often a struggle, so Jaskier strikes a chord and begins his lustiest, filthiest drinking song that’s got the room shout-singing along by the end. He performs as he always does, to his entire audience, but anytime there’s a particularly obscene line his eyes flicker back to Geralt, his golden gaze fixed on Jaskier, arm tensing slightly, mouth a bit ajar.

The witcher looks more and more wrecked with every song, and it sends a thrill of delight down Jaskier’s spine. He’s beautiful, strung out and desperate and blushing, despite his insistence time and time again that witchers don’t blush.

The blush grows deepest as Jaskier nears the end of his set and he sees the barmaid return to the table to clear the dishes. Geralt visibly startles when she speaks, so distracted by obeying his orders, and he’s shaking thoroughly by the time she heads back to the kitchen, empty plates in tow.

Jaskier has what can only be considered a stroke of genius.

“For my final song, my good people, I bring you the tale of the devil of Posada–” Jaskier grins at the look of sheer horror on Geralt’s face as he realizes what’s about to happen–“a fearsome beast who plagued the Valley of the Flowers until defeated by the White Wolf, the greatest of witchers, Geralt of Rivia! Now, ladies and gentlemen, you’ve all been so generous to me this evening and I am eternally grateful, but I would be remiss not to alert you to the hero himself in your midst, that you might show him the same kindness you’ve shown me! Why, this very evening he slew a water hag and a nest of nekkers outside your city walls to protect you and your children from harm! And so I give you my last song, my dear friends, and I implore you to... _ toss a coin to your witcher, _ ” and into the song he launches.

It doesn’t take long for the first brave soul to approach the table with coin and a word of thanks. Geralt looks absolutely mortified as he nods curtly in thanks, his right arm absolutely trembling as he works himself over. It’s  _ perfect. _

By the end of the song, the table is littered with gold. Jaskier bows, puts his lute in its case and collects his own tips before returning to the ashen-faced witcher.

Jaskier immediately begins collecting the coin on the table for him with a grin. “Enjoy yourself, darling?” he asks innocently.

“You’re a menace,” Geralt grits out. The hand not busy beneath the table is balled in a tight, shaking, white fist.

Jaskier laughs, leaning close. “Make yourself presentable and follow me.”

Geralt fumbles with his trousers beneath the table, snatching Jaskier’s lute to carry in front of him as he follows the bard out a side door and into the cold night air of a dark alley.

Jaskier presses behind him, snaking a hand to pull out his cock and jerk him furiously. Within seconds he’s coming with a cry, his cum coating Jaskier’s hand and the brick wall before him. He crumples boneless into Jaskier’s arms as he struggles to catch his breath, opening his mouth automatically when the bard presents his hand to lick clean.

“An absolute menace,” he pants before pulling Jaskier into a delicious kiss.


	10. Geralt/Jaskier, extreme underage, noncon, spanking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _Modern AU!! Geralt adopts a young Jaskier with the intention of making him the perfect cocksleeve. In public, he’s the perfect father, but in private he never lets his little boy off his cock. He ties him up, spanks him, locks his little cock up, plugs him up so full he can’t walk, and shares him with his brothers when he’s feeling generous. Jaskier is just getting up the courage to tell someone when G decides to homeschool his son so he can enjoy his whore 24/7._
> 
> CW: extreme underage, noncon, spanking, CBT, bondage, chastity

“Go to the living room, Jaskier. Daddy got you a present.”

Jaskier takes off his backpack and his light-up sneakers, lining them up neatly by the door like Daddy likes before taking off the rest of his clothes dutifully and placing them in the laundry hamper by the door. He glances at Daddy, his white hair pulled into a ponytail, strong body covered in the all-black clothes he tends to wear, before quickly following him to the living room, rubbing his little cocklet as he goes. It’s comforting.

He kneels next to Daddy’s recliner, his eyes on the ground.

“Were you good today at school, Jaskier?”

“Yes, Daddy,” he murmurs, his cheeks burning.

“Show me.”

He moves to all fours, angling his sensitive bottom towards Daddy. Daddy leans down, pressing against where it’s red and raw around his hole, then grabs the base of the plug and fucks it in and out of him a little. Jaskier whimpers but tries to be good.

“Looks like you’re pretty chafed, little guy,” Daddy says. His voice is soft, but Jaskier shudders. “You’re  _ sure  _ you were good at school?”

Jaskier blinks at the tears forming in his eyes. “I didn’t take it out, Daddy,” he says quickly, “pinky-swear I didn’t! But…”

“But?”

“But Miss Merigold got onto me for squirming in my seat.” The tears run down his face now. “She...she had to tell me to sit still twice.”

Miss Merigold is the  _ best _ teacher, so it hurt even more to disappoint her. She’d even stopped him after class, kneeling down so she could look him eye-to-eye. “Is everything okay today, Jaskier?” she’d asked, big, kind brown eyes watching him carefully. “You’re not usually so distracted. Is everything okay at home?”

Standing so close to Miss Merigold and her nice, encouraging smile, Jaskier almost _told_. Told everything, showed the plug and the bruises and welts on his sore bottom.

But then he remembered what his Daddy told him the first night, when he’d first put his big thingy in Jaskier’s throat. “Remember, you belong to me now. You’re Daddy’s sweet little toy, and Daddy’s gonna take care of you. But if you tell anybody about our playtime, you’ll be a bad boy, and bad boys get sent back to the orphanage with a note in your file so nobody else can adopt you ever again. So you’re going to be a good boy for Daddy, aren’t you?”

Jaskier’s a good boy. So he’d smiled bravely and told Miss Merigold everything’s fine.

“So you lied to me.” Daddy’s grumbling voice sends shivers down Jaskier’s spine. “You  _ weren’t  _ good at school today.”

“I’m so sorry, Daddy,” the boy sniffles, trying to hold back the sobs that threaten to break free.

Daddy sighs. “I wanted to give you your present, but it sounds like you need to be punished first. Up here, Jaskier.”

“Yes sir.” Jaskier scrambles to lay on his Daddy’s lap, sore ass presented to him.

“You’ll get ten spanks with my hand for getting in trouble at school, and ten with the belt for lying to me. Understood?”

“Yes Daddy.”

“Count for me.”

The first slap stings, the squish of his little ass quivering under the pressure. “One,” he whimpers.

Hand spankings aren’t too bad, usually. Daddy’s hand is heavy and powerful, but it’s a familiar, easy kind of pain Jaskier can drift through.

He cries at the first lick of the belt.

“Count, Jaskier. If I have to remind you again it’s another ten.”

“One,” he sobs, his whole little body shaking.

Another.

On three, the belt hits a little lower, biting into his little red balls as well as his thighs. Jaskier screams his count.

Daddy stills above him for a moment, running a hand over the abused flesh. “Spread your legs for me, Jaskier.”

“Please, please no, Daddy, I’ll be good I _swear_ …”

“Is telling your Daddy ‘no’ good?” he snarls, shoving his legs apart. Four is aimed directly at his balls, as are five, six, and seven, Jaskier bawling as the strips burn like fire, like he’s being cut open.

Daddy’s hand massages him after that. “Just three more, Jaskier,” he rumbles, pulling the plug from his swollen hole. “Just three more and you can have Daddy’s cock, all right, little one?”

“Yes Daddy,” Jaskier cries, rubbing miserably at his eyes.

The next three cracks of the belt are aimed directly at his clenching asshole. Jaskier feels a little fuzzy, but Daddy pulls him to sit on his lap, shoving his big dry cock straight into the abused hole, still sopping wet from being plugged after their morning playtime.

“There’s my perfect little cocksleeve,” Daddy growls, pushing Jaskier down harder on him, biting at his neck as Jaskier moves limp like a rag doll in his arms. “So tight for Daddy. The perfect little whore for me, aren’t you, Jaskier?”

“Wanna be good,” he sobs, clenching as hard as he can like a good tight fucksleeve. If he doesn’t milk Daddy’s cock right, he might trade him in for another boy, he’d told him so a bunch of times.

It doesn’t take long for Daddy to finish, filling him up and plugging him immediately. He runs a hand through Jaskier’s hair. “All right, Jaskier. Even though you haven’t earned it yet, I’m going to give you your present now.”

Jaskier can’t help bouncing in excitement on his lap. “Thank you Daddy!”

“Go to your spot and I’ll bring you your present.”

Jaskier hops down from his lap and runs to the bedroom. He gets on the bed, raising his hands above his head and spreads his legs.

Daddy grunts, approval showing in his golden eyes when he sees Jaskier. He ties him efficiently before he sits down next to him, showing him the little black box in his hands. “I got this made special for you, Jaskier. It was very expensive, and I expect you to show your gratitude for the trouble I’ve gone to.”

“Yes Daddy,” the boy says meekly.

His Daddy opens the box, pulling out a small, shiny silver device. A little ring, about the size to fit around Daddy’s thumb, is attached to an even smaller dome with a hole in it. At the top of the device is a little lock. He’s never seen anything like it before.

“What is it, Daddy?”

“It’s called a cage. It’s for your baby cocklet. It’s pretty, isn’t it? Like jewelry. You’ve always liked pretty jewelry.” Daddy threads the ring onto Jaskier’s little thing as he speaks, pulling his sore balls through until the ring grips him tight at the very base. “I’ve noticed you touching your cocklet a lot lately, Jaskier, and that it’s starting to get hard sometimes when Daddy fuck you. This will help with that.”

Jaskier feels like he can’t breathe. Daddy continues to work the cage onto him, clicking the little dome into place over his cocklet. It squeezes him, pressing him down hard.

“Your little thing won’t get hard anymore, and you won’t be able to rub it like a bad boy. And it’ll help you stay perfect for Daddy...even though you keep growing big, you’ll keep your little baby cocklet like Daddy likes, so pretty and soft and tiny. You want that, don’t you, Jask? Wanna stay pretty for Daddy?”

Jaskier sucks in a breath, trying to stop his crying from making noise as Daddy turns the key and pockets it. “Do...do we take it off when I need to go peepee?” he asks faintly.

“No need for that, silly, that’s why this hole is here.” He taps the little hole in the dome. Jaskier can feel his finger where his cock is pressing through because it’s stuffed so tight. “It will take some getting used to, you might make a mess of yourself the first few months, but don’t worry, Daddy will help you go potty.”

_ Months. _ “But what about when I’m at school, Daddy?”

Daddy smiles at that, running a hand through Jaskier’s brown hair. “That’s the other part of your surprise. I went to the school board today and signed all the paperwork. You won’t have to go to school ever again, sweetheart, Daddy’s going to homeschool you. You won’t have to think anymore about any of that hard math or science or anything, you’ll learn important things, things that’ll make you a better cocksleeve for Daddy. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Jaskier quakes, nodding his head in spite of the tears running down his face.

Daddy leans forward, kissing him on the mouth. “That’s my sweet boy,” he groans. “Now be good and take a little nap. Uncle Eskel and Uncle Lambert are coming over tonight to see your new jewelry!” Daddy ruffles his hair and leaves, turning off the light as he goes.

Jaskier lies crying, tied up in the dark, thinking about never leaving this house again. The pressure from the cage is unbearable. He takes a breath and tries to go to sleep like a good boy.


	11. Jaskier/Trans Man Geralt, Lactation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _Your trans Geralt humiliation stuff is frankly just unfairly hot, and since it's in your kink list I definitely would love to see some trans Geralt lactation. Maybe with a side of breeding kink?_
> 
> CW: trans man lactation, discussions of genitals with gendered words (his cunt, his clit, etc.)

Jaskier closes his eyes and sucks the sweetest milk he’s ever tasted.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Geralt whimpers softly beneath him, carding his fingers through Jaskier’s hair as he cradles the bard’s head against his swollen chest.

“Gods, darling, you’re incredible,” Jaskier moans in between sucks and little kitten licks to collect the droplets of milk on the red, engorged nipple, bigger than it’s ever been, fingers gently massaging the small mound, the puffy areola. “We must keep you in milk all the time, love, I shall never be able to give this up again.”

“Fuck, Jaskier,” Geralt’s voice is a gravelly mess as he presses the bard closer to him. “Hurts.”

Jaskier pulls away, stroking his lover’s face. “What hurts, darling? It hurts when I drink?”

Geralt shakes his head, a deep blush spreading through his pale skin, up his ears. “There’s...there’s _pressure_ ,” he says brokenly. “Too much pressure.”

“What will help? What I can I do?”

Geralt shoved him roughly back to his nipple. “Suckle _harder,_ ” he gasps.

Jaskier greedily complies.

It’s still for a moment, the only sounds the hooting an owl, the crackling of the fire, Geralt’s little moans, and the suckling sound of Jaskier’s mouth. It’s good, it helps, but it’s not enough, so much  _ pressure _ everywhere, Geralt has to relieve the pressure, and before he can think too much of it he’s got a hand shoved into his trousers, rubbing roughly at his swollen clit.

“Fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier swears, breaking away from the breast with a moan as he rocks his straining cock against his lover’s thigh. “Please, please Geralt, let me fuck you while I milk you, love, please, I’ll make you feel so good, darling.”

Geralt shoves his trousers down as Jaskier scrambles to help him, climbing between his legs and shoving his own breeches down far enough to free his erection. He guides his cockhead through Geralt’s weeping folds enough to lubricate it, lining up and thrusting into his cunt with unprecedented speed.

Jaskier latches onto his other nipple with a moan, fucking into him hard and fast. “Going to keep you bred,” he pants when he draws away for breath, the pale sheen of milk reflecting off his lips, “keep these gorgeous udders full and ready for me, love, I want to live on this milk.” He suckles again, slipping a hand between their bodies to rub furiously at the swollen nub at the top of Geralt’s sex.

The witcher ruts back against Jaskier’s cock as much as he can, his whole body spasming as he gives in to the all-encompassing pleasure of Jaskier’s mouth and hand and cock. As his climax ripples through him, a stunning stream of milk explodes from both nipples, his entire body convulsing in a fit of pure, unmitigated pleasure. 

Jaskier works him through it in awe, his hips never faltering from their rhythm as he swallows down mouthful upon mouthful of sweet, sweet milk.

Geralt returns slowly to his body as he settles into the gentle, unmistakable bliss of providing for his beloved, meeting all his needs. He’s sinking and floating all at once, and everything is Jaskier.


	12. Jaskier/Ace Geralt, dub con, sex repulsion, communication issues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _I've seen a few fics w/ humiliating/assaulting trans geralt but do you think you could write something with jaskier forcing sex on ace geralt? maybe finding out he's ace and trying to "fix" him?_
> 
> CW: asexual sex-repulsed Geralt, super dubious consent, slight dissociation during sex, an ace character thinking of himself as broken/similar aphobic language, major communication issues

“Nonsense.” Jaskier’s tone brooks no argument. “Everyone wants sex.”

Geralt shrugs, looking away. It’s a conversation he’s tried to have before, not with Jaskier, but with others. It never seems to go well.

“In my experience, the people who say they don’t like sex either haven’t had good sex or haven’t had sex with the type of people they want to be having sex with.” Jaskier’s looking at him out of the corner of his eye, now, surveying him slowly. “What type of people have you had sex with, Geralt?”

“Different kinds.”

“Men as well?”

“Yes.”

There’s a heat that’s flared up in Jaskier’s eyes that Geralt hasn’t seen directed at him in quite some time. “Curious,” he murmurs. “And what role have you taken?”

Geralt feels the heat rising up his neck at the question, discomfort like insects crawling beneath his jerkin. “Same as...same as with women.”

“So you’ve never been fucked.”

He shakes his head.

“Interesting.” Jaskier’s looking at him through hooded eyes as he slides closer to Geralt by the fire, a hand resting on the Witcher’s thigh. “Maybe that’s the problem, then.”

“Hmm.”

“Maybe you’ve just been waiting for someone to take care of you. Show you how good it could be. And I’d make it good, Geralt.” Jaskier’s hand is on the back of his neck, now, as he stares at Geralt’s lips before leaning in and tasting them.

Jaskier’s kissing him.

This...isn’t bad. Geralt doesn’t  _ mind _ kissing. It’s just that people so rarely want kissing to be an endpoint unto itself. It’s just a stop on the way to something real. What they really want. What Geralt can do. Has done.

Jaskier makes him almost forget, for a moment. He is skilled, but he’s also unrushed, gentle. It feels for a glorious span of time like Jaskier is kissing him simply for the pleasure of being kissed, not as a warm up act.

But then Jaskier is between his legs, and the kiss intensifies into something bigger, something that starts to feel like running from a monster in the woods, and Jaskier’s hands are all over Geralt’s body, learning him except they aren’t, they don’t understand the burnt-electric feeling those intent-filled touches leave in their wake and so they proceed, they’re slipping into clothes and pulling off clothes and moving and moving and moving. Jaskier rocks his hips forward. He’s hard. Geralt wants to disappear.

“Lie back, darling,” Jaskier coos, pushing Geralt back into the bedroll, “I’m going to make you feel absolutely delicious.” And Geralt goes back, and he could stop Jaskier, couldn’t he? His hands look so strong. They could stop a bard if he wanted to.

But Jaskier might be right. Maybe Geralt’s not had the right kind of sex in all these decades. Maybe not with the right partner.

Jaskier pulls him from his breeches, gives him a few gentle strokes that feel like a million tiny pinpricks reside in his palm, but nonetheless he finds that he’s stiffening under the attention.

Jaskier is a kind, patient, attentive lover. Anyone would be lucky to be bedded by him. And it doesn’t take him long to get hard, does it? Jaskier must be right.

His clothes disappear piece by piece as Jaskier takes him apart, and so Geralt goes away, a little, as much as he can with that unpleasant feeling of lightning beneath his skin. Jaskier’s mouth is on his cock and Jaskier’s finger is his breaching his hole and Geralt tries to be elsewhere, he does, but a lifetime of survival has trained him to stay vigilant, present, aware of every potential threat, and even though he can’t hurt him, not really, the two long oil-slicked fingers stretching him carefully open are a threat.

It’s a paradox, one he’d puzzled over for years before filing it away as something unsolvable, the way his body reacts, the nearly pleasant hardness of his erection, the nearly ecstatic-borderline-nauseating feeling of the building climax. It’s not as though he doesn’t get anything from this, per se. After all, he’a spent plenty of coin in brothels across the Continent over the decades on the Path, needing  _ touch _ but being too afraid of furthering the revulsion in their eyes if he asks for it without sex. After all, one goes to a brothel for sex. Would it not be rude to turn down their specialty, asking instead to be held for an hour? Would that not be comparable to attending a feast catered by the best chef in the land and asking for bread and meat instead of his gourmet signature dishes? And so Geralt has endured his share of sex.

When Jaskier enters him, it’s not painful, despite the bard’s moans of “Gods, but you’re so tight, darling.” No, Jaskier is too thorough, too considerate a partner not to adequately prepare his body. It might be easier, Geralt thinks, if Jaskier were a touch more cruel, less thoughtful, had rammed his prick into him before he was prepared, provided some legitimate kind of pain that could distract from Geralt’s own brokenness.

As it is, Jaskier’s hand works his cock as he thrusts in him in a way that Geralt can tell objectively must be skillful, must solicit a good response in people more capable of enjoying such a thing. The distressing pressure builds within him until he breaks, hips thrusting into the bard’s slick hand as he coats their chests with his spend, and above him Jaskier is happy,  _ thrilled, _ and perhaps he should be, perhaps he’s right, Geralt  _ must  _ have enjoyed it, the inundating waves of discomfort a small price to pay to keep a companion as thoughtful as Jaskier pleases. The bard comes, flooding his insides with his seed, and Geralt swallows the feeling.

“I told you I’d take care of you, love,” Jaskier pants against him with a blissful smile.

Geralt does his best to smile back.


	13. Geralt/Jaskier, improper use of axii, mind control, forced dependence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _For Kinksgiving! Geralt axii-ing Jaskier to become more helpless/stupid and reliant on him. He needs geralt’s help getting dressed, using the bathroom, feeding himself, etc and geralt loves being needed_
> 
> CW: improper uses of axii, mind control, forced dependence

A hand to the shoulder shaking him jerks him awake, still hours before dawn.

“Geralt,” whines a sleepy, frantic voice. “Need _help._ ”

The witcher sits up immediately at the words. “What do you need, Jaskier?”

“Need to go potty.” The desperation shines through even the blank, faraway look frequently found in Jaskier’s eyes since the introduction of _axii_ to his everyday mental state. There’s not a lick of shame in his voice, just that beautiful _need_. 

“It’s good you woke me,” Geralt says, running an affectionate hand through his hair before climbing from bed, pulling Jaskier with him. “It’s hard to manage a chamber pot by yourself, isn’t it?”

Jaskier yawns, nodding. Geralt carefully pulls the bard’s velvet-soft prick from his small clothes before lifting the basin to him. He stands flush behind Jaskier, chamber pot in one hand, holding the sweet little cock with the other, nuzzling into the crook of Jaskier’s neck as he murmurs, “Here you go, Jaskier. You can go potty now.”

Jaskier just sighs in contentment, releasing his bladder as Geralt revels in the intoxicating power of feeling the rushing liquid pounding through that sweet little cock as he pisses for Geralt. When the stream abates, he shakes the helpless thing clean, setting aside the chamber pot and tucking Jaskier’s cock back beneath the cotton before leading him back to the shared bed.

“Do you need anything else before you go back to sleep? A drink of water?”

Jaskier beams innocently at the suggestion, so Geralt pours him a sizeable drink from the pitcher on the bedside table. Geralt knows Jaskier’s bladder, has become pretty intimately familiar with the exact quantities it can hold, and even though he knows he needs sleep he can’t help pouring enough that Jaskier will have to wake him again before the night’s through. “Drink up, Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice is low, soothing, like a father’s loving command. “You always forget to keep yourself hydrated.

“I do,” Jaskier admits between drinks as the witcher crawls back into bed beside him. “Don’t know what I’d do without you taking care of me, Geralt.”

In the morning, Jaskier will stand before him as he does every morning, his arms raised as he waits for Geralt to clothe him. He’ll sit beside Geralt and ask so sweetly for breakfast, never even reaching for his own fork – “You do always make a mess of it when you try to feed yourself.” He’ll follow every gentle guidance as they travel throughout the day, and if they reach Novigrad by nightfall, he’ll play with the bubbles in delight as he lets Geralt worry about the boring things like getting him clean, maybe even splashing him a little with a childlike glee as Geralt indulgently cares for him.

But for now, Geralt sighs in contentment, pulling his sweet boy close with a firm hand against his lower belly, and drifts back to sleep.


	14. Cis Eskel/Trans Eskel - selfcest, rough sex, facefucking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _Transmasc Eskel meeting his alternate self. Big cock meets size queen. "Twin" public sex?_
> 
> CW: selfcest, facefucking, rough sex, discussions of genitals with gendered words (his cunt, his clit, etc.)

Sometimes being a witcher is just goddamn _weird_ , Eskel reflects as he lowers himself onto the very large cock of the Eskel holding him against the wall as he fucks into him slowly.

It’s been a weird day.

When he runs into himself outside a tavern, his first thought is it’s a doppler. He shoves it into the alleyway to confront it, but it doesn’t seem to have any issue with silver, and in fact it also seems to think  _ Eskel’s _ a doppler until he proves he likewise has no issue with silver. The wolf medallion around its neck is genuine, straight from Kaer Morhen, and neither medallion seems to be vibrating at the other’s presence. They talk through any other shifter possibilities, ruling things out together, before the other Eskel starts telling him about his last job.

“Some mage offered 3000 crowns to find his girlfriend,” the other witcher tells him. It’s amazing how Eskel can be so repulsed by his reflection in the mirror yet so intrigued, fascinated with the copy before him. “He’d been fucking around with interdimensional portals, turns out, and she’d accidentally walked through a wrong door.”

It...makes sense, all things considered. This new Eskel is him in so many ways, but the likeness makes the subtle differences stand out. The way this Eskel favors his left side a little more that tells of an injury–knee, maybe?–that Eskel himself hasn’t suffered. The way this Eskel parts his hair to the left, instead of down the middle. The way the outline of the giant fucking cock snaking down the right leg of this Eskel’s trousers leaves little to the imagination, none of the modesty of Eskel’s own codpiece.

So maybe that difference isn’t so subtle.

Eskel’s always worn a codpiece. It’s easier than packing, which quickly becomes cumbersome and hard to manage when traipsing through the countryside and fighting off wyverns and what have you. He’s not comfortable simply wearing regular trousers, garments that would highlight pretty clearly the smooth front as opposed to the expected bulge.

That doesn’t seem to be an issue for this other Eskel.

Interesting that they should so clearly be the same person in nearly every way except this. Nearly identical copies, except for the cock on one and cunt on the other.

It’s...not an uninteresting difference. One Eskel can’t help wanting to investigate more thoroughly.

It’s not that he’s  _ attracted _ to himself. Even on this other Eskel, his ugly mug is a hideous, scarred-up wasteland.

And yet…

“We should fuck,” the other Eskel volunteers.

If Eskel had any residual doubts about him who he claims to be, they’d be gone now.

“You’re different,” the Eskel from the other dimension continues, his familiar hand palming roughly against Eskel’s codpiece, making him groan. “Down here.”

Eskel nods, rubbing the new Eskel’s interested cock through his straining trousers. “Got a room,” he grunts.

The other laughs. “Don’t have to kid ourselves,” he teases, nipping at Eskel’s ear exactly how he likes it, “I know I wanna fuck your cunt right here in this alley where anybody could see. Pretty sure that’s what you want, too.”

And it absolutely  _ is  _ what Eskel wants. He glances at the busy street outside the alley. “Two witchers,” he muses. “Surely folk’ll look the other way if it bothers them.”

The other Eskel’s smile looks almost like a snarl, and for some reason that sends chills down his spine. “They will if they know what’s good for them.”

Eskel rips at the other’s laces, pulling out the truly impressive cock and marveling at it. It’s fucking perfect is what it is, long but mainly stunning in its width, girthier than some fists Eskel’s taken in various holes throughout his life. It droops under its own weight. Eskel wants to get  _ ruined _ by that thing.

Needy hands pull at Eskel’s own laces, untying his codpiece to reveal his dripping cunt beneath. The other witcher moans, and in a dizzying feat of strength Eskel finds himself lifted by strong hands on his ass until he’s straddling broad shoulders, his back pressed hard against the cold brick, as this new, ravenous Eskel buries his face into his pussy and eats him out like a starving man.

Eskel could almost come just from the experience of being manhandled like a ragdoll. Even when they’re all fucking at Kaer Morhen during the winter, Eskel is always the one turned to for feats of brute strength. He’s never experienced anything like this, that hot desperate tongue working him, sucking his engorged clit as strong fingers dig into his ass, encouraging him to ride his face. And who is Eskel to deny him?

He comes with a cry, and when the other Eskel pulls back he’s got his juices running down from his smirking lips.

“Let me down.” When his double complies he wraps his legs around his waist and kisses him hard, moaning at the taste of himself on his own familiar lips. “Gods, I want you in me.”

“That can be arranged.” Like that, there’s a hot, bulbous head sliding against Eskel, rutting against him until he reaches to line himself up at Eskel’s entrance, both groaning at the exact same pitch as Eskel sinks down on him slowly.

The other Eskel buries his face in Eskel’s neck, breathing hard against him. “God, you’re so fucking tight,” he moans, mouthing at a scar. “You have no idea. Wanna fuck you to pieces.”

“I can take it.” Eskel uses the wall behind him to push himself up before dropping down on the cock. “You _know_ I can take it.”

“ _Fuck_.”

It’s the biggest cock Eskel’s ever taken, by a lot. It burns all over as it stretches him so perfectly, and by the time their hips are flush, Eskel’s crying from the feeling of it all. “I can take it,” he gasps before the other can slow the pace to check on him. “Harder.”

The witcher complies with a growl. They find a rhythm together, rough and punishing and _painful_. It’s everything Eskel’s ever wanted.

“Ruined me for other cocks,” he pants. “Nothing’s ever gonna fill me up like you.”

“We’re–fuck–spoiling each other. Hold back so much all the time, never get to let go.” 

“Let go with me.”

It’s too much to talk, too hard to find breath, too many better uses for mouths. Neither of them will be able to last long like this but it doesn’t matter, not when he’s getting impaled upon this monstrous cock fucking him so hard he sees stars. His entire body is a coil, pressure building, building, building.

A big hand slips between them, and for a wild moment Eskel doesn’t know which of them it belongs to as it grasps his swollen clit between thumb and forefinger and jerks him roughly, just how he needs it.

“Want you to come on my cock, baby,” he growls, slamming his cock into Eskel’s sweet spot, and that’s all it takes for him to burst with a guttural cry, his whole body convulsing as the other fucks him through it, holding onto him tightly until Eskel’s whining with oversensitivity.

Eskel scrambles off his cock, legs like jelly when they hit the ground but he doesn’t need them, not for this. He falls to his knees, sucking down that wide cock that tastes of him until it stretches the back of his throat. He guides his double’s hands into his hair then grabs his hips until he gets the hint and skullfucks him violently. Eskel’s throat might be a raw, bloody thing by the end of this and he doesn’t care, nothing matters but the sensation of being choked by this fucking perfect cock, he could die happy like this.

The other Eskel pulls out, shaking, and jerks himself roughly until he coats Eskel’s hair and face and open mouth with his copious hot cum, a garbled “ _fuck_ ” growled out as milks out every last drop, reaching to smear it possessively over the scarred face in front him before collapsing on to his elbows against the wall.

“Gotta...gotta finish my contract.” His breathing is labored, irregular. “But first…” He lets out a bark of a laugh. “Did you say you have a room?”

“Yeah.”

“Take me there.” He gives Eskel a hand up, shoving him back against the wall and kissing his cum-soaked lips fiercely. “Don’t think I’m done with you yet, wolf.”


	15. Geralt/Trans Jaskier, genital humiliation, oral sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _For the kinksgiving game/ whatever you fancy how do you feel about Geralt/Jaskier with small penis trans!man Jaskier humiliation with may be a splash of piss (like humiliating jaskier for how he pisses?) Sorry I'm trash😅_
> 
> Sorry, anon, I veered from this prompt a bit. Hopefully you still enjoy!
> 
> CW: light trans genital humiliation, light piss content (not sexual pissplay, just as a bodily function)

“The infamous Jaskier, seducer of women, squatting over a chamber pot to piss like a little girl.”

Jaskier feels the heat rushing to his face, the words stopping his bladder whether he wills it or not. He grabs a towel cover himself quickly, spinning around to where Geralt’s smirking at him in the doorway. “You must forgive me, Geralt, I didn’t hear you come in. Although gods know you might have _knocked_.”

Geralt just shrugs, closing the door behind him.

Of course Jaskier knows that Geralt must already know about his...configuration. One doesn’t become famed as a lover with such parts without inviting such rumors, after all, and he doesn’t go out of his way to quash them. He’s ordered his brew from apothecaries in front of Geralt before, and while he didn’t state specifically why he needed such things, there aren’t many other reasons one might place such an order. He’s even changed in front of Geralt a few times, down to his smallclothes and the tight, uncomfortable undershirt he’d acquired from a like-minded friend in Oxenfurt.

“Can I see it?”

Jaskier startles at the question. “I’m sorry, what? Can you see…”

“That pathetic little thing between your legs.”

A flash of...several things hit Jaskier all at once. Anger at Geralt’s crassness. Shame at his own freakishness. Embarrassment for having been caught in such a base position, wearing nothing but a loose chemise, crouched and pissing into a chamber pot.

And arousal at being spoken to so harshly. A surprising amount of that, really.

“I...give me a moment, if you will, please.” Geralt turns away, pulling off his armor, and Jaskier pats himself dry quickly. He _should_ reach for his smallclothes, dress himself, and tell Geralt off for his unwarranted cruelty.

Instead he finds himself lying on one of the beds, his legs spread wide.

Geralt turns back toward him, eyes immediately fixed between his legs, and the intensity of that golden gaze is enough to inspire some immediate wetness forming there in spite of the conflicted twist of his gut.

“What...what do you think of it?” he asks lamely.

He’s wanted Geralt since the moment he laid eyes on him, is the problem. Perhaps if he hadn’t he’d manage to find some self-respect.

Geralt approaches, kneeling between his legs. He leans in to get a better view but maintains a respectable–too close, not close enough–distance. “It’s a little bigger than a clit,” Geralt says thoughtfully, reaching to pull back the hood so the throbbing red phallus juts out further, Jaskier moaning helplessly at the casual touch. “But not much, is it?” He strokes the sensitive head with a calloused fingertip.

“Not much,” Jaskier breathes. “It will grow with time, I’m told. Not to rival a...a natural cock, of course. But bigger.”

Geralt nods, dragging a finger to spread some of the wet up to his tiny dick. “It’s a pretty thing,” Geralt grunts softly, and Jaskier knows the witcher can hear how his heart races at the words. “Even if it’s no good for fucking. Don’t know how you get all those women without something to fuck them with.”

Jaskier snorts at that. “Most of ‘those women’ have men with cocks,” he retorts. “They come to me for what their men can’t give them, can’t or _won’t_. Pleasure.”

Both Geralt’s hands have found their way to Jaskier’s thighs, massaging the flesh, keeping him spread open. “You pleasure these women with your mouth.” There’s something strange in the witcher’s expression, and before he speaks again he looks Jaskier dead in the eye. “Do they return the favor?”

Jaskier flushes at the sudden attention, at the unexpected question. “I...I don’t ask them to,” he says softly. “It’s not what they come to me for.”

“Hmm.” Geralt rubs a slippery thumb up and down the length of Jaskier’s slit, considering. “What about me? Would you like me to suck your little cocklet?”

Jaskier feels as though all the air has been sucked from the room. “Yeah,” he whimpers.

Geralt hums softly, leaning down to press a light kiss just above his engorged little prick. He licks carefully, just exploring, acquainting himself with the terrain, but his mouth feels like heaven. It’s been too long; the last time Jaskier received such attention was during his last semester at Oxenfurt, over a year ago.

Geralt licks at his little dick, wetting him thoroughly before his lips seal around him, sucking him gently, and Jaskier can’t help the sob that escapes him at the sensation. He tentatively strokes the white locks, taking Geralt’s little vibrating hum as affirmation as he cards his fingers through the loose hair, gently massaging Geralt’s scalp.

“Gods, you feel exquisite, darling,” Jaskier moans, and he can’t help it, he’s a babbler by nature but especially during sex. “Your mouth is perfect, I…”

He cuts off at the feeling of a wide finger at his entrance.

Geralt immediately stops at the sudden tension in his body. “No?” he asks softly. 

Taking a breath, Jaskier shakes his head. _Stupid. This is why you don’t do this._

“No more at all, or no touch there?” There’s no judgment in his eyes. No disappointment.

“Not right there,” he admits quietly, waiting for the rejection that’s surely coming.

“Hmm.” Geralt moves his hand to rest on Jaskier’s pubic mound. “Was everything else okay?”

“What–what do you mean?”

“Are there other places I shouldn’t touch?” Geralt places a kiss on his hip.

Jaskier’s head is spinning. “No, I–everything else was good.”

Geralt brushes his lips lightly against Jaskier’s little cock. “What about here?” he murmurs, the vibration from his words resonating within Jaskier. “You want me to keep sucking you off?”

“Fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier breathes. “Please.”

The glorious suction resumes, gentle at first, building to something a little more intense. Large, warm hands lift Jaskier by the ass, encouraging his hips to thrust in rhythm with Geralt’s mouth. And it’s good, it’s so good, warm and wet and tight and Geralt’s moaning around him like he can’t get enough and then...

And then Geralt’s bobbing his head gently, like he’s sucking a _cock_ , and the sight of it is all it takes for the tension in Jaskier’s belly to overflow into an exhilarating rush, crying out as waves crash within him, the witcher working him through it with gentle, consistent suction.

Jaskier lets out a long breath as the last of the aftershocks rack through his body. Geralt is still lying between his legs, but his head is pillowed on Jaskier’s thigh, the heel of his palm providing gentle, reassuring pressure to his little cock. He’s watching Jaskier carefully.

“Geralt,” Jaskier chokes out, his voice cracking a little, “you simply _must_ allow me to return the favor.” 


	16. Jaskier/Trans Man Geralt (+Eskel and Lambert), urethral stretching/fucking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _Totally fair if you don't vibe with this, but... Trans Geralt getting his urethra stretched until he has another hole to fuck?_
> 
> CW: urethral stretching/fucking, trans genitals referred to in gendered terms (his cunt, his clit etc.), trans man penetration

“Eskel, could you please hold his cunt open for me?”

Eskel scrambles forward between Geralt’s spread legs, bringing his fingers to the slick slit and carefully spreading his lips.

“That’s perfect, love,” Jaskier says, sliding the steel device into Geralt’s pussy carefully. Of course he doesn’t  _ need  _ the second pair of hands—he and Geralt have done this just the two of them hundreds of times outside the walls of Kaer Morhen, and besides, the speculum does most of the work—but Eskel had looked so smitten. Besides, Eskel keeps his hands to himself until asked, whereas Lambert’s been trying to touch Geralt since Jaskier stripped him, so he’s also teaching a lesson in manners. Jaskier’s quite the multitasker.

He opens the speculum, carefully clicks it wider and wider as the two wings splay Geralt’s perfect cunt open for all to see, pulling the swollen, stretched skin around the urethra down and forward in the process. “That’s perfect, Eskel, thank you for your help! It will hold him from here. He looks lovely opened up like this, doesn’t he?” Jaskier leans forward to kiss the pretty hole lightly before sucking on the engorged clit, Geralt’s hips already trembling and bucking at the sensation. He hears the groan from behind them and releases Geralt, looking back over his shoulder to where Lambert is fisting a rock-hard cock rather desperately.

“Easy, darling, we’re just getting started,” he chides with a knowing smirk.

“Fuck off, bard,” Lambert hisses, but he stills his hand at the base of his cock and holds himself. “Just because you can’t get it up after you shoot your load once doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t. There’s at least one perk to being a witcher.”

“Are you calling my virility into question, Lambert? Geralt, do something about Lambert.”

Geralt moans, rocking his hips impatiently back towards the bard. “Jaskier doesn’t have any trouble getting it up, stop being a shit. Will somebody  _ please  _ shove something in me already?”

Jaskier frowns, smacking his thigh sharply. “Now now, that’s not how we ask for nice things, is it, Geralt?” He pinches his clit, pulling it away from him, not enough friction to feel good, just enough to be a tease. “Want to try that again, darling?”

Jaskier doesn’t have to look at his face to know how deeply he’s blushing. Begging doesn’t come easy to Geralt naturally, but in front of his brothers?

“ _Please_.”

“Please what, love? I can’t help you if I don’t know what it is you’re wanting.”

“ _Please_ fuck my hole.”

“Mmm...what hole was that, darling? I’ve quite forgotten.”

It’s quiet for a moment but for the crackling little snaps from the fireplace. “Please fuck my pisshole.”

A strangled  _ “fuck”  _ from Eskel meets a high-pitched whimper from Lambert. “Good boy,” Jaskier praises, dipping his index finger in the jar of gelatinous lubricant, thicker and longer lasting than the oil he’d use just to fuck. He glides his fingertip easily into the stretched hole, just as he knew it would. “Ready for two already, aren’t you, darling?” He doesn’t wait for a reply, adding a second without hesitation, fucking him rapidly to the second knuckle.

Geralt just keens brokenly in reply.

Jaskier keeps his pace, glancing over at Eskel. “Would you get the toy ready for him? That’s the one, the smallest.” 

Eskel picks up a glass rod smaller than two of his wide fingers and smears it with lube before handing it to Jaskier.

“Thanks plenty, dear.” Jaskier pulls his fingers from Geralt, earning him a whine that turns into a moan as he presses the head of the toy to the loose flesh. “There you go. That’s lovely, isn’t it? Did you know, it took me over a month to work him up to this size? And now look at him. Taking it with basically no stretching at all.” He drifts a hand to find Geralt’s. “How are you feeling, love?”

“Feel good.” Geralt’s voice sounds a little choked, but the look on his face–his eyes closed, mouth slack, brow utterly relaxed–is blissful.

“I’m glad.” He pushes the toy in farther, fucking him carefully, revelling in the way the taut skin clings to the glass of the rod. “You look incredible like this. Absolutely beautiful for us.” He squeezes Geralt’s hand. “You’ve stunned your handsome brothers, darling. Lambert’s been on the verge of losing it for ten minutes–”

“Shut it, bard, I–”

“Hush, you prickly thing, you know it’s true. And Eskel, darling you should see him, Eskel just keeps staring with this look of awe at your cunt then your face then your cunt then your face, back and forth, like you’re the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen.”

Unexpectedly, Eskel buries his face against Jaskier’s neck from behind him. They’ve not been so intimate before, despite their flirting since the bard’s arrival at Kaer Morhen, but the warmth of the big body against him feels natural. “Maybe he is,” comes the muffled rumble.

Jaskier turns to kiss Eskel gently, smiling at the little hitch of breath. “He is a wonder, isn’t he?” he asks softly against scarred lips. “Our Geralt is a thing of beauty.”

“He is,” Eskel breathes.

Geralt is rocking back against the glass toy, pushing it further and further into his urethra with each little thrust. “More, Jaskier, please,” he moans.

“Greedy little thing,” Jaskier tuts, but he’s already nodding at Eskel to ready the next toy, a blue glass phallus the size of a small dick. When he nudges it against the swollen urethra still clinging to the rod, Geralt swears, reaching down to rub roughly at his clit. Jaskier watches him with a smile, slowly pulling the rod out and lining up the little dick toy, sliding it in slowly, lost in the gorgeous sight of the red flesh stretching around the smooth dark blue surface to accommodate the swell of the toy’s head.

“So good,” he praises, leaning to take his clit in his mouth. Ever aware of his audience, Jaskier sucks him with an obscene slurping noise that’s mostly for show and is immediately rewarded for his theatrics by the desperate noises from all three witchers. He sinks the little phallus into the stretched hole, rocking it back and forth within him until the flared base is seated snug against him as he pleasures him skillfully.

“Fuck, Jask, not gonna last,” Geralt pants, hips jerkily desperately against him.

Jaskier knows. It’s better this way; pulling an orgasm out of him before he tries for anything bigger will relax all his muscles even further, make it easier to fuck the stretched orifice. He pulls the toy back to thrust it in a few more times while he redoubles his efforts on his clit.

Geralt comes with a broken cry that rings through the quiet fortress.

It’s Lambert who speaks. “Look at you, pretty boy.” There’s a note of reverence in his voice. “Look at you, creaming yourself from getting your pisshole fucked.”

Geralt lets out a breathless grunt of laughter. “You should try it.”

And  _ there’s _ a thought, Jaskier admits to himself, drinking in the sight of that huge cock and imagining how lovely it’d look with a nice thick sounding rod in it. Lambert looks absolutely stricken, his expression somewhere between horrified and intrigued.

“A brilliant idea we could certainly explore if Lambert were so inclined,” Jaskier says, petting Geralt’s abdomen lovingly. “But right now I think we have more pressing issues. What do you say, darling? Do you want to show your brothers how stunning you look with your sweet hole stretched around my cock?”

“Yeah,” Geralt breathes.

Jaskier moves up his body to kiss him, a long, passionate thing. “Can’t wait to be inside you,” he whispers, just for Geralt, placing a kiss on his temple before rocking back to his knees between the Witcher’s spread legs.

He turns to look at the other two witchers as he fucks the blue glass cock in and out of Geralt gently. “Now, once I’ve got my cock in his pisshole, I’m going to take out the speculum. It just gets in the way when I’m trying to fuck him. However, I do want you to be able to see. I truly can’t describe the magnificence of seeing that flesh clinging to a cock, there’s nothing in the world like it. So once I’m inside him, Eskel, if you will just take two fingers—just like this, darling, that’s perfect—press down on the floor of his cunt, open him up for you. Lambert, you may want to move closer to get a better view, I’d hate for you to miss out.” Jaskier pulls the toy carefully from Geralt’s hole, rubbing his clit gently as he goes. “Ready for me, darling?”

“Need your cock,” he moans.

Jaskier wets his length thoroughly before lining himself up. He watches as Geralt releases his held breath, just as he’d trained him to do, and pushes slowly in until the head pops in, the tightest cling of anything Jaskier’s ever had around his cock. “God, still so tight for me, darling,” he moans, reaching his free hand to release the speculum as he feeds another inch of his cock in.

He hears the squish of Eskel’s fingers holding open his sopping pussy, the choked off grunts of pleasure at the sight. “See how tight he wraps around me?” he asks the witchers behind them, lifting his hips up to give them the best view possible of the distended flesh.

“Fucking gods,” Lambert pants, “gods, wanna fuck that pisshole so bad.”

Geralt whimpers at that, seemingly open to the suggestion, but Jaskier glares over his shoulder at the youngest witcher. “I think not,” he says fiercely. “I’ve spent the past year working him over, stretching him out until he could finally take my cock. I’ll not have any of you witchers shoving your thrice-damned monster cocks in here and wrecking his hole behind repair and destroying all my hard work in the process! Geralt has three other holes he’s more than generous with that I’m sure he’d be happy to let you stretch out to your heart’s content. This one is mine.”

Geralt is looking up at him, pupils blown black with arousal, panting, wet lips puckered in what could only be a  _ pout _ . 

Jaskier sighs but his hips piston into him quicker in spite of himself. “Oh, you  _ want _ to take those huge witcher cocks in your little pisshole, do you? Want to stretch yourself out to take Lambert? Or gods forbid, _Eskel_? Have you  _ seen _ the girth of Eskel’s cock, love? Might as well fist your little hole and be done with it, it wouldn’t do anymore damage than a cock that big.”

Geralt’s hand flies to rub at his clit, panting and whimpering desperately, his body shaking.

The already vice-like grip on Jaskier’s cock tightens even more. “Gods,” he moans. “It will take quite a bit of work, darling, but if that’s what you want, I’m sure we could stretch you out for them. If we stretch you every day you may be able to take their cocks by winter’s end! That what you want, sweet Geralt, want to train this little hole to take a witcher cock? We could fill you up so good, one of us in your pisshole, one in your cunt and one in your ass. Is that what you want, darling, to be stuffed completely by us?”

“Still leaves his mouth,” Lambert grunts behind them, the guttural grate voicing his desperation as he fists his cock.

“Vesemir’d come fill his mouth,” sweet Eskel murmurs, and that’s all it takes for Geralt to come with a shout, clenching down on Jaskier’s cock as he fucks him hard through it, the pressure as he bears down on him too much to take, and Jaskier lets go, pumping Geralt’s urethra full of his cum.

“Don’t come yet!” Jaskier rasps to the witchers behind them. “Just a moment longer…” He pulls out slowly, ignoring Geralt’s whine of protest, and when his swollen cockhead pops out it’s followed by a mottled stream, pale piss and thick white cum swirling out of him together.

Eskel and Lambert both come at the sight, competing moans and cries filling the air as they paint Geralt’s spread, trembling thighs white.


	17. Geralt/Monsters, dark noncon breeding, mind break, captivity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _Some mage captures Witchers, and gives them wombs. Cocks are sterile (useless or removed) but the wombs aren't, so he uses them as breeding stock for all sorts of monsters and experiments. My kingdom for forced enjoyment, breeding, cockdumb from pleasure, mind break and cum inflation._
> 
> CW: noncon, monsterfucking, bred by monsters, monster death, mind break, cum inflation, captivity, just some major major Geralt whump

The door opens.

The bitch lifts up his head, glances over his shoulder to see it bound in, its cock is already hard, precome dripping from the tip of its pointed red cock. His mouth waters. Werewolf, he thinks vaguely. Werewolves have such nice cocks.

_Wolf_.

They’d called him that, once. Something about a wolf.

He doesn’t think he’s a wolf, but he’s not sure. It’s so hard to remember.

He’s not anything now. Just a breeding bitch, a hole to fill.

The werewolf wastes no time mounting him where he’s bound to his breeding bench, stretched open and ready. The breeding kennel is where he stays most of the time. Sometimes, the master unties him and drags him by the collar to the room he doesn’t like, somewhere cold with bright lights where he looks inside him and prods and pokes, cleans him more than just the cold buckets of water he normally gets thrown on him every few weeks. When his tummy’s big that’s where he has his litters, but sometimes the master checks him even when there’s no litter yet.

Sometimes the litters look like the creatures that pumped them inside the bitch. Sometimes they’re strange, hairless things that cry and whine and don’t look like any monsters he’s seen, look like something _else,_ something he almost remembers but not quite. Sometimes they’re still, bloody little things, quiet and unmoving. Those go on a tray for the master to cut up and look at and make symbols on his paper, not in the cages like the others.

Werewolf pups are easy. He gets bred by a pretty red cock that feels good in his bitch hole, gets a neck bite, then waits one moon. The master takes him to the cold light room. The pups come out, his belly gets flat. Time for another stud.

The werewolf is bigger than him, scratches deep into his shoulders as it mounts him. The cock feels good when it stabs his bitch hole, doesn’t tear him open like some of the studs do, the ones with cocks bigger than the bitch’s thigh. Those are the master’s favorite. The master comes into the kennel to watch those, instead of watching from the other room.

The bitch closes his eyes and pushes his hips back, feels dirty fur against him. There was a time he didn’t do this but this is better. This is what he was made for. He doesn’t think about the before-time.

He feels the floppy thing between his legs tingle like it does sometimes and rubs it against the breeding bench. It feels good but nothing happens, it doesn’t get hard like a real cock, not like the big perfect thing swelling in his bitch hole. 

He floats in blank bliss. The knot stretches his bitch hole so far. Going to give him pups. This is what he was made for. This is all he’s good for.

He feels the cock squirting hot cum in him, fill him up so big, feels cum stretch his belly, feels it all over. Nothing but a cum hole, all over, wants more cum in every hole, wants to drown in it, cum cum cum…

The werewolf is making noises. He’s used to noises, all of his studs make noises when they fuck him. But these noises sound...familiar, something hidden in the fog. The master makes noises like this, sometimes, but they’re so far away. Like something from a dream.

He _understands._

“You used to hunt our kind,” the werewolf growls in his ear. It bites the bitch’s neck, hard, harder than mating bite, lots of blood, hot and wet run down down down to the breeding bench. “How many werewolves have you killed, witcher?”

_Witcher_.

He knows that word.

How?

He _knew_ it. Once.

“Now you take werewolf knots.” The werewolf snarls a laugh. “The mighty witcher, the famous _White Wolf_ is nothing but a werewolf’s bitch.”

He whimpers.

Studs aren’t supposed to make those noises. _Words_. Not supposed to use words.

The creak of the door opening. The master in the kennel, making noises... _words_. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go, the werewolf is still tied in him, still pumping seed, it will be a long time still before the knot goes down, it’s not _time_ for the master to take the werewolf yet...

The master utters another word, one the bitch doesn’t know, and the werewolf whimpers, falls on top of him. Heavy. Still.

Dead.

The master shoves the corpse off him, and he cries out when the knot’s ripped from his hole, cum still hot, burning as it pours out of his hole, down his legs. A good bitch keeps his stud’s cum, a good bitch lets the seed take root…

No.

Not a bitch.

“ _Witcher_ ,” he mumbles weakly, his tongue thick and clumsy. It’s been so long since he made those noises.

The master goes rigid beside him, looking furious. “Fucking loudmouth werewolf,” he spits out, kicking the beast’s limp body before turning to him. “It’s all right, bitch,” he says, a solid hand on the scruff of his neck. “I’m going to help you feel better. Get you nice and bred up so you remember what you are and what you’re good for.”

“ _Witcher_.”

The master storms out of the kennel, leaving him alone.

The witcher pulls at his bounds. They’re too strong and he’s too weak to hope to break free of them. Looks around. He can see the moon through the slots of the roof but can’t hear any signs of life...they must be deep in the countryside, screaming would doubtless do him no good even if he could manage it. He takes a deep breath. There’s running water nearby. There’s…

The heavy door slams open again. The witcher lifts his head, looking over his shoulder.

The monster is huge, its horrifying, beastly body strong and sinewy, massive rack of antlers on its head. Long ragged fur in various places covers parts of its hideous brindled body. Between its legs an ugly, angry cock, hard, bigger than a horse’s.

In the middle of its forehead, an eye, red, full of rage.

_Fiend._

The eye flares, and everything else goes away into the abyss, into oblivion until there’s only him and the red glow.

Dark and red. Nothing and red. The eye still fixated on him even as he feels the too-big head at his entrance. Too much, too big, too red.

_So big, so much, so full._ It hurts, hurts all over, hurt too deep, his gut rearranged violently to accommodate the attack but as he stares into the warm red glow, feels himself being bred by that giant cock, a sudden sense of peace washes over him, and everything hurts but he goes limp on the breeding bench, taking the cock and staring in awe at the red glow, _feeling_ when the stud comes inside him, stuffing him full of gallons of cum, gallons of _seed_ , breeding him, stretching him, his belly uncomfortably distended but so, so good.

This is where he belongs. This is all he’ll ever be good for. He remembers now.

He’s going to be a good bitch.


	18. Geralt/Trans Eskel, Lambert/Trans Eskel, con, trans man lactation, some age play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _For kinksgiving, transmasc Eskel lactating after a job goes wrong and being unwilling to find a cure since bribing his brothers with milk means a much more peaceful winter_
> 
> CW: lactation, gendered words for trans secondary sex characteristics (specifically “his breasts”), vague mention of a forced hysterectomy, some daddy+little/age play

Winters at Kaer Morhen tend to be hectic, to put it mildly.

The first few weeks are always the same: repairs around the keep, cutting enough firewood to last the winter, clearing out chimneys, dealing with any rodent populations that have assumed ownership during the year. It’s hard, honest work, and when the sun sets they’re all pretty well tired out. They eat and sleep and do it again the next day.

It’s about halfway through the second week that tempers start flaring. Vesemir will give a simple instruction that will set Lambert off because “who the fuck does that old man think he is?” which inevitably leads to Geralt playing the role of the condescending older brother, lecturing Lambert on “showing some damn respect,” which gods know never ends well, and so usually by the end of the third week either Geralt or Lambert is sporting a black eye. Eskel plays referee as best he can, spending the better part of the winter as the conciliator between the other witchers; a hopeless, thankless task.

This winter, though, there’s a bit of a complication.

It’s mid-afternoon when he feels it. Eskel darts into his room, feeling the release of that constant tension, the telltale dripping down his chest. He strips off his jerkin and shirt, the latter wet. Godsdammit. Slowly he unties the soaked-through binding around his chest.

He massages the tender, swollen breast tissue, catching the milk leaking from his engorged nipple with the already wet shirt, attempting to drain it enough to get a little peace. He’d been better able to manage it, surprisingly, on the road, but in Kaer Morhen he’s constantly distracted by the bickering and fighting, often not feeling the leaking until he’s drenched.

The heavy door swings open, old wood creaking loudly.

“You seen my damn potions ba—what the fuck?”

Lambert’s standing in the open doorway, staring at Eskel’s chest.

Eskel covers himself quickly, holding the jerkin in front of himself. “Ever heard of knocking, jackass?” he snaps, a roiling in his gut. It doesn’t matter; they all know that Eskel’s body is different than theirs, sure, but it’s never been quite _this_ different visibly before, at least not with his pants on. Normally Eskel’s chest is a good bit bigger than his brothers’, although it’s still read as masculine due to his bulkier build. Now, filled with milk and leaking, they’re quite obviously _breasts_.

“Sorry, Es.” Lambert hurries to shut the door with himself inside. He strides to Eskel’s side. “What the hell happened to you?”

Eskel shrugs awkwardly, dropping the jerkin and crossing his arms over his bare chest. “Had a contract for a couple wraiths hanging around some fertility goddess’s temple. Never got the full story, but seems like some old priestess had the place boobytrapped—oh, fuck off, you little shit, you’re a damn child.” Eskel smacks Lambert for his infantile snicker. “Felt something magical when I broke into the inner sanctum but I couldn’t place it. After I dealt with the wraiths I went to try to sleep it off. The next day there was this.” He motions vaguely to his chest.

Lambert approaches cautiously. “Wait, _fertility_ goddess? You don’t think…”

Eskel snorts. “Fertility spell or no, don’t exactly have the necessary parts to start popping out kids, if that’s what you’re asking. They ripped all that out during the Trials.” 

He belatedly registers Lambert’s horrified expression. They’ve all messed around so much over the years it surprises Eskel that Lambert didn’t already know about the hysterectomy, the extent to which he’d been altered in the process of becoming a witcher; in his defense, of course, it’s not like Eskel brings such things up regularly. Geralt knows, but of course Geralt knows. Geralt had been there, sneaking into his barrack bunk to hold him, nursing him back to health.

Eskel shrugs it off. “Milk ducts still seem to be in perfect working order, though.”

“Seems so.” Lambert’s frowning. “Couldn’t find anyone to help? A mage or anything?”

“I was already near the base of the mountains, and the snows were already picking up. It was go ahead and make for the keep or don’t come back until next winter. Couldn’t risk you lot killing each other without me here to keep the peace.”

“Does it hurt?”

Eskel looks away from the unexpected worry in Lambert’s eyes, scratching at his scars out of habit. “No more than anything else,” he mumbles. “Most of the time it’s just...pressure. Uncomfortable. Then I’m here having to squeeze the shit out just so I can think about anything else.”

Lambert’s gaze has drifted back down his chest, that frown morphing slightly into something a little breathless. “Let me help,” he whispers, lowering himself slowly to his knees before Eskel. “Please?”

Eskel just nods, speechless.

He leans in to lick carefully at the red, swollen nipples, double their usual size and dripping sweet milk. With a moan Lambert draws the nipple into his mouth, sucks him with a gentle, even rhythm.

“Fuck,” Eskel moans. The tension of the past few weeks fades almost instantly as he floats at the rightness of having someone to feed, someone suckling him and depending on him and…

Eskel runs a hand through Lambert’s hair. The younger witcher is sitting up on his knees, but Eskel’s a little too tall for the position to really be comfortable for either of them. Lambert pulls off his chest with a smacking sound, looking up at him with questioning—although slightly blissed out—eyes.

“That was...all right with you?” Eskel asks.

Lambert just nods, rubbing his face against Eskel’s belly affectionately. Shyly.

_Oh._

They’ve all fucked around, to varying degrees. Winters are long, and sharing a handjob in the bath or a bed during an especially cold night has never been a particularly fraught prospect with either of his remaining School of the Wolf brothers. It’s casual, comfortable.

A few years ago Lambert had approached him, after a bottle of vodka, to tell him about someone he’d met on the Path who needed to be _little_ sometimes, who needed a daddy to take care of them sometimes. After a much more awkward conversation when they’d both sobered up, they spent a lot of time that winter working through what Lambert needs from time to time. It doesn’t happen often, and Eskel always waits for Lambert to request it, but looking down at this shy boy hiding his face even as he licks his lips, Eskel knows what he needs.

“That can’t be too comfy,” he says softly, nodding at Lambert’s position. “Want to come lay down on the bed with me? Then you can have as much of Daddy’s milk as you want.”

“Yeah,” Lambert breathes, taking the extended hand and following Eskel to the bed. He lifts his arms so Eskel can pull off his tunic and pushes off his own boots and trousers, crawling into bed in only his braies. Helping Eskel position the pillows to prop him up, he scoots down the bed and curls into Eskel’s side, pawing at his chest as Eskel guides a nipple to his wet mouth.

“There you go,” he rumbles, rocking the boy in his arms ever so gently as he latches on. Pain and pleasure and relief flood Eskel together at the sensation. “There you go, sweetheart. You can suckle a little harder if you want to, all right? Not gonna break.”

Lambert immediately complies.

It’s good. Peaceful. Even with Lambert not-so-subtly humping his leg.

“You’re being so good, Lamb.” He strokes his hair thoughtfully. “Wish you could be good like this all of the time, instead of always yelling and throwing tantrums and fighting.” 

An idea strikes him suddenly. The most harmonious winter in recent memory was two years ago, when Lambert wanted to explore more extreme forms of discipline. Even outside of their play, there had been a drastic improvement: by the end of the winter, he’d become far more easy-going, relaxed, and mild-mannered than any of them had seen him for more than a few hours at any given time. 

Perhaps he would respond to the carrot as well as the stick.

He plants a kiss in Lambert’s hair. “Only good babies get their Daddy’s milk,” he murmurs. “You’re going to be a good boy, aren’t you, little Lamb?” Lambert lets out a little whine, riding his thigh with abandon now. “If you’re good and nice to Geralt and Vesemir and help out with your chores and work hard on training, you can drink up every day, get nice and full from all that milk. That’s what you want, isn’t it, baby?” Lambert’s moan feels lovely on his sore nipple. “Such a sweet boy for Daddy,” Eskel praises, rubbing his neck gently. “So good, Lamb. You can come whenever you need to.”

Lambert lets out a strangled cry around his nipple, hips jerking furiously as he rubs himself off until Eskel can feel the hot squirts of cum against his thigh through the thin cotton. Lambert sighs, and Eskel carefully rolls him to his other side. He pulls off Lambert’s dirtied braies and uses them to wipe the cum off them both, tossing them off the bed before wrapping his arms around Lambert. 

“It’s good to see my sweet boy again,” he says softly. “Do you want to nurse a little while longer while you come back up?”

Lambert just nods, his eyes a little unfocused.

Eskel guides him to his full breast, feeds him the nipple, gently caresses his cheek while he latches. They lie together, cocooned in the warmth of the afternoon sunlight streaming in from the window, the warmth from each other.

It’s ten minutes or an hour when Lambert pulls off—Eskel’s lost all sense of time, drifting into a deep meditation. Lambert’s eyes are clearer, though still soft and unguarded. He kisses Eskel gently, the sweet milk still clinging to his lips, and whispers, “Thanks Es,” before he slips on his clothes (sans braies) and leaves with a small nod, closing the door gently behind him.

Eskel leans back on the bed, well-rested and content. Two birds, one stone.

Eskel moans as he lowers himself in the steaming water. The baths of Kaer Morhen more than make up for any discomforts of the decrepit keep itself; deep huge pools carved into the stone leading to the hot springs, fresh and clean and spacious, made from the days when dozens of witchers may need to bathe at the same time. But tonight it’s just Eskel, leaning back against the stone wall, his eyes drifting shut, letting the gentle waves lap against his aching body.

He’s so relaxed he barely hears the door open, but even through the thick steam he can smell Geralt’s approach. 

“Hey Wolf,” Eskel murmurs, not opening his eyes.

“Saw Lambert this afternoon, floating around with a dopey grin on his face.” He hears him strip, laying his clothes on one of the benches. “He _apologized_ when he ran into me. Looked like he did that day you caned the shit out of him, ‘cept this time he could still walk.” He pads over, sliding into the pool beside Eskel with a groan. He slips under quickly to wet his hair before returning to Eskel’s side. “Chest hurting you?” His rough voice is carefully casual.

Eskel opens his eyes at that. Geralt isn’t looking at his chest, isn’t looking at him at all. Doesn’t seem in the least bit surprised. “How long have you known?”

Geralt snorts a laugh. “Not everybody’s as unobservant as Lambert. Smelled it on you as soon as you walked in the keep. Figured you’d say something if you wanted to talk about it.”

Eskel’s always loved that about Geralt.

“‘Course, that was before I had to smell you on Lambert’s breath.” His mouth quirks into an almost-smile, but his eyes bore into Eskel’s, full of quiet feeling. “Thought I’d offer my assistance, too, if you want it.”

Geralt’s is a gentle, unassuming, thoughtful kind of love, one as natural as breathing. Eskel brings a hand to his cheek and Geralt turns to kiss his palm before he swims in front of Eskel, kneeling between the thick thighs that open for him— _just_ for him, really. Eskel’s pretty cautious when it comes to spreading his legs. Sex is complicated for him, even with the working men and women he occasionally visits in brothels. Most see his anatomy and assume what he likes, and he...he can tolerate that, tolerate certain touches he doesn’t desire, but he doesn’t encourage them. But with Geralt—Geralt who’s touched him a thousand times, Geralt who was the first to help him fumble his way into pleasure, Geralt whose fingers know him as well as his own—that fear doesn’t even register. 

Geralt latches on firmly, massaging the sore breast tissue with a soothing, capable hand as he sucks against him. His wet white hair floats behind him, ethereal and glowing in the bath’s dim light. He’s in the water up to his chin, little droplets of milk occasionally trickling past his lips to make a tiny cloud when they reach the water only to quickly disperse.

Eskel feels the let-down, the rush of ecstasy that he hadn’t quite felt with Lambert, too tense and overfull, but now, having his milk drained only a few hours ago, it’s blissful to fill Geralt’s patient mouth, intoxicating.

Geralt interrupts his own sucking pattern to lick over the nipple, and Eskel moans.

He pulls off, still massaging gently as he breathes Eskel in. “This turns you on,” he observes softly. It’s not a question, not a judgment, not a demand.

Eskel barks out a laugh. “So it would seem.” He knows he’d be embarrassed with anyone else. He doesn’t think he’s capable of being embarrassed with Geralt. “Hasn’t before.”

“Hmm.” Geralt nuzzles gently at his breast, licking the sensitive flesh again. “Do you want me to get you off? It’d probably feel nice with this.”

“Yeah,” he breathes.

Geralt nods, turning to take the other nipple in his mouth. He suckles perfectly, the exact right pressure coaxing the stream to flow, and when those thick fingers slide up and down on either side of his throbbing nub they know the exact right pressure too. 

Eskel holds onto the rim of the pool, letting his head fall back and his eyes drift shut as he focuses in on the incredible sensation of it all. It already felt like there was a gossamer thread from his nipple where Geralt sucked to his little prick, but now, as Geralt takes him between thumb and forefinger and begins to slowly jerk him off, it’s overwhelming, it’s electricity through his veins, it’s a shock to all his senses. He lets his hips rut forward, chasing the pleasure aggressively, moans and whimpers escaping him as Geralt takes him apart so perfectly. 

It’s not long before he’s coming with a sob, all the tension of the past few weeks draining from his clenching, twitching genitals, from his chest expressing an unexpectedly powerful stream into the water and Geralt’s mouth. 

Geralt works him through it patiently, rubbing him gently as he releases his breast. He takes the soap and cleans them both efficiently as Eskel basks in the afterglow, perfectly content to let Geralt take care of him.

Geralt stands, gently pulling Eskel up with him, but before he can climb out of the pool Eskel grabs him by the wrist. He draws close, catching Geralt’s erection between them and rubbing against him. “Come to bed with me?” he asks, a soft kiss to the corner of Geralt’s lip.

He kisses him hard in reply.

  
  


It’s past midnight when the bedroom door opens. Eskel stirs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, sitting up in spite of the heavy arm draped over his middle. “Lambert?”

“I thought maybe you needed…” His eyes widen as he catches sight of Geralt, still mostly asleep and pawing at Eskel to lie back down. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You’re not,” Eskel says before he can bolt. He throws open the thick quilt on his empty side nearest the door. He shivers a little as the night air hits his bare skin, his invitation clear. “Plenty of room for one more. C’mere, little Lamb.”

Lambert visibly melts at the endearment, closing the door and pulling his clothes off quickly before he slides into bed. He casts a wary glance at Geralt before mumbling, “Been good,” looking up at Eskel with wide, hopeful eyes.

Eskel beams down at him, giving him a nipple and ruffling his hair tenderly. Lambert sucks at him, happy little grunts and moans coming from him as he relaxes into the bed, into Eskel’s embrace. It’s nice. Warm.

Beside them, Geralt’s breathing pattern has changed. Eskel glances over to see him awake, watching Lambert nurse curiously. After a moment, Geralt shifts, nosing at Eskel’s free breast before latching on.

Eskel sighs, eyes drifting closed as tranquility washes over him.

This may turn out to be a peaceful winter after all. 


	19. Geralt/Ciri, noncon, breeding kink, pregnancy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _Oh gosh, PLEASE follow up that ciri/geralt breeding ask with a part 2 after geralt has successfully breaded her and ciri’s stomach is swollen and fat_
> 
> A continuation of [Chapter 2 of this work.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27720865/chapters/67850321)
> 
> CW: noncon, now featuring some self-delusion on Geralt’s part, pseudo-incest, breeding kink, pregnancy, brief somnophilia

He loves her like this.

He’s loved her every way he can imagine since he acquired her years ago, loved her when she was precocious sprout training to be a witcher, when she was fighting off mystical forces with the powers from her Elder Blood, when she decided to follow him and live as a witcher afterward.

He’s loved every incarnation of his sweet Ciri, but like this—breasts swollen, belly round and tight as she houses his child growing with her, depending on Geralt for everything, barely able to waddle around the bedroom anymore without help—he loves her best like this. Her frame is too small, the babe within her grown so huge, she’s off-balanced and disproportionate and it keeps Geralt painfully hard.

He crawls into the bed, where she’s sleeping, naked. He’d taken her clothes away when they reached Kaer Morhen. It’s not like she needs them, not like they’d fit her for much longer anyway. He keeps a fire stoked for her, keeps quilts and furs to cuddle under when she’s cold.

He pushes the blankets back now so he can see her. Gods, but she’s perfect. Her breasts haven’t started leaking milk yet, but they look as though they’ll begin any day; her areolas are puffy and darkened, her nipples expanded, usually hard. 

Her pretty little cunt is changed too, lips swollen and red, the whole area a sensitive minefield. He pushes her legs open, settling between them to lick her open, groaning at her sweet taste. She’s wet, constantly wet and hungry for him like this, her cunt constantly begging to be stuffed. He feels her stir awake beneath him but she makes no move to dissuade him from his course of action, doesn’t fight him like she did in the beginning when he first started breeding her. No, now she’s docile, easy, bred and bedded and compliant, her green eyes far away when he fucks into her, content and distant.

She feels sweet around his cock, not tight now, not really, elastic walls expanding in preparation for the birthing, but she’s so warm and wet it doesn’t matter. He thrusts into her, reveling in the way he can’t lie down on top of her now, not really, not with her huge tight belly between them. But he doesn’t mind. He fucks her sitting on his knees, pulling a pillow under her hips to help her with the angle. It’s perfect this way, hammering into her while he runs rough hands over the massive swell, the skin stretched tighter than he ever imagined, the little sparkling stretch marks adorning her perfect tummy. (On the days he pulls her up to ride him, it’s just as glorious a view; she’s so  _ bouncy _ now, so many parts jiggling as she clings to her sensitive tits and tummy as he sets a brutal pace, cute little tears welling up in her eyes.) But this morning it’s nice and easy, feeling the heartbeat of his child through her belly as he fucks her full of his seed, how she’s supposed to be. How he’ll keep her from now on.


	20. Jaskier/Eskel/Trans Man Geralt, genital humiliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _Plot twist, the cock Jaskier's seen that's been in chastity so long it doesn't get hard? Eskel's. And when Jaskier gets them both in bed he can humiliate both of them for their useless cocks._
> 
> A continuation of [Chapter 1 of this work,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27720865/chapters/67848424) but can absolutely be read separately. The only thing you need to know from the first is that Geralt is a trans man who’s very into it when Jaskier makes fun of his useless little cocklet while fucking him.
> 
> CW: light D/s dynamics, genital humiliation, reference to trans genitalia in gendered terms (I refer to Geralt’s cock/cocklet and his cunt), trans man vaginal penetration, chastity, a truly ridiculous amount of dirty talk, brief temperature play, light cumplay

“Look at the two of you,” Jaskier sighs, eyes roaming hungrily over the two naked witchers before him. “I do believe that’s the most adorable pair of cocklets I’ve ever seen. Useless, of course. But adorable to look at.”

“Can’t look at Eskel’s,” Geralt grunts, glancing over at Eskel’s crotch. Nestled against his swollen balls is a dainty cock cage, looking inordinately tiny on Eskel’s huge frame.

And maybe another day he might reprimand Geralt for such sass, but he can’t help beaming at him. “Right you are, darling.” He pulls the long chain silver chain from his neck and holds out his hand to Geralt, the small key shining in the firelight. “Why don’t you let Eskel out of his cage so we can take a better look?”

Geralt obeys immediately, unlocking the cock cage with a satisfying metallic _clink_. 

“Well, you’re certainly eager,” Jaskier laughs. “You’d think your dick was the one that’s been locked up for the better part of a decade with the way you’re pawing at him, Geralt. Slowly. Describe it to me.” He smiles at the lovely pink that settles on Geralt’s cheeks.

“‘s small,” Geralt mumbles. He hates this part, when Jaskier makes him use his words, it’s clear in every line of his body, but he wants to be good. “Used to have a pretty big dick.”

“And he ruined that for himself, didn’t he?” Jaskier surveys him; the last time he’d seen Eskel, and the only other time they’d played before, had been about five years ago. His cock had seemed squashed and unresponsive then; now it looks somehow even more defeated. “Knows he’s much more suited to just being a hole than to try to do anything with this silly little cock of his. Isn’t that right, darling?”

Eskel clearly isn’t as used to Jaskier’s filthy teasing as Geralt. He hesitates, then, “Yeah.”

“Good, you’re both doing so well.” Jaskier strokes his cock languidly. “What else do you see, Geralt?”

“Skin pressed through the bars. Dick’s discolored, purple in places.”

“Good. You can slide it off his cock.”

Eskel lets out a shaky breath as Geralt carefully pulls the head and shaft of the cage off of him slowly, meticulously, careful not to scrape the delicate skin or catch a hair in the process.

“There’s...indentations from the cage. It’s...small.”

Jaskier runs a hand through Geralt’s hair. “It _is_ small, isn’t it? Not much bigger than yours, biology be damned!” He massages his scalp gently. “You're doing so well, darling. You know I love to hear your voice. Now, the ring is last. You’ll have to be gentle with this part, love, his balls are certainly the biggest part by far.”

He didn’t need the instruction, of course, Geralt’s every move has been carefully calculated, but he does better like this, the reassurance of clear orders. He delicately maneuvers the ring, squishing Eskel’s sac to slowly feed it through as he pulls off the final piece.

“Beautiful,” Jaskier coos, stroking a finger down the shrivelled flesh. “What a stunning, shy little thing it is. When was the last time you were out of your cage, Eskel?”

“Took it off to clean last week,” Eskel says, looking somehow vulnerable without this little bit of armor.

“And did you touch yourself when you did so, since you were free?”

“No.” A pause, and then, “I don’t do that anymore.”

Jaskier groans, leaning in to kiss Eskel. “Gods, but you’re perfect,” he marvels. “Geralt, why don’t you fetch that basin and clean him down before you play?”

As Geralt retrieves the cloth and wrings it out, Jaskier meets his look of surprise with an innocent smile. The witcher returns to the bed, setting the basin on the bedside table before tentatively stroking Eskel’s cock with the cloth.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Eskel’s whole body convulses at the touch, already tiny dick retreating further in on itself.

“Oh, I must have forgotten to mention that it’s mostly snow in the basin,” Jaskier says with a bright smile. Eskel just whimpers. “It seems to be melting now!”

Geralt wipes him down thoroughly, pulling back the foreskin to clean beneath, lifting his balls and cleaning their underside, all while Eskel shivers at every touch. When he finishes, he places the cloth back into the basin and turns to Jaskier for further instruction.

“Perfect,” Jaskier praises with a kiss to Geralt’s temple. “May I confide in you two my vision for our evening together?” Both witchers’ gazes are fixed on him intently. Jaskier never wants to leave this bed. “I’d like to see if we can get Eskel’s limp little prick hard enough to fuck you, Geralt.”

Geralt lets out a groan at the prospect, while Eskel blushes in shame. “Don’t think it’ll work,” he admits quietly. “It’s been a long time since I could, well…”

“Get it up? Well, darling, no worries, we’ll give you every opportunity. Before we jump straight into the grand finale, I’d like to see you prepare each other. Geralt, why don’t you straddle his shoulders–there you are, love, sit on his mouth, he’ll eat you out nice and proper until you’re dripping for his cock, won’t you, Eskel?” Eskel just moans against Geralt’s cunt, already feasting happily. “Exactly. Now you can lie across him, love, and suck his cock. You’re a wonder at sucking cock, after all, if anyone would be able to breathe life into that pathetic little thing it would be you. Have at it!”

He watches them and it’s gorgeous. Eskel seems quite adept at eating cunt, Geralt moaning and humping his face frequently, his thighs trembling quite early in the process. Geralt, for his part, is pulling out his very best cocksucking technique to get a reaction from that stunted, abused little dick, but apart from the tiniest twitch every now and then, nothing. Not half-hard, not approaching hard, nothing.

“That precious thing truly is worthless, isn’t it? I don’t know how you’re planning to fuck Geralt with a cock that limp, Eskel, but you’d best hurry!”

Eskel lets out a broken moan against Geralt’s cunt, mouth sucking Geralt’s little dicklet and fingers inside him. “Fuck, Jaskier,” Geralt pants, “can I come?”

“So soon? Gods, darling, what will Eskel think?” Jaskier says. “Maybe try fingering him, dear, since your talented mouth doesn’t seem to have much effect on his worthless little prick.”

Eskel _whimpers_.

Geralt reaches for the jar of salve, wetting two fingers and pressing none-too-gently into the other witcher’s hole. Eskel immediately rocks his hips in a desperate attempt to get them deeper.

“Now there’s a man who knows what he likes,” Jaskier praises softly, running a fingertip down Eskel’s side. “Open him up nice and wide for me, Geralt. Unlike you two, I happen to have a fully functional cock.”

Geralt keens at the words, burying his face in the juncture of Eskel’s hip and thigh. 

“Once you get him nice and ready for me, I can have you both,” Jaskier continues. “I’ll fuck Eskel’s glorious ass while he tries to push that silly little thing in your cunt. How does that sound? I don’t think Eskel’s quite up to the task of fucking someone by himself, but perhaps if he has me guiding his thrusts it will come a little more naturally to him.”

Geralt’s gone rigid, every muscle in that glorious body straining to hold himself back. Jaskier puts a finger on his chin, guiding him into a kiss. “You’ve done beautifully, love. Would you like to come for Eskel?”

“And you.” It’s a grunt, but an endlessly endearing one.

Jaskier smiles, kissing him again. “Yes, sweet thing, come for me, too.”

“ _Fuck_.”

Of all the varied pleasures he’s experienced in his years of hedonism, watching Geralt come is one of Jaskier’s very favorites. Seeing Geralt’s careful composure break as his strong, beautiful body convulses in torturous bliss–it doesn’t matter how often he witnesses it, it steals his breath time and time again.

Geralt goes limp atop Eskel, who avoids his sensitive cocklet in favor of long, hungry licks inside him that rip a drawn out, rumbling moan from Geralt.

“Come on, dear, you’ll crush him,” Jaskier laughs.

A muffled “I can take it” emerges from between Geralt’s legs.

“And _you_ shouldn’t speak with your mouth full, it’s rude. Up, Geralt, I want to see Eskel try to fuck you.”

 _That_ gets Geralt moving again, swinging his leg around so he’s sitting beside Eskel on the bed. Both look to Jaskier for their next command, though he finds himself a bit distracted by just how delightfully wet Eskel’s face is.

“You lie on your back here, love, and Eskel, you can lie between his legs. We won’t try anything particularly advanced here, I know we’re already working with some setbacks.” He smirks as the two witchers move into position, Eskel’s dick still noticeably limp. “Now Eskel, darling, push that foreskin back, it can’t do any fucking like that.” Eskel groans and does as he’s bid, his face flushed, biting his lip as he rubs at the newly exposed head, glistening in the firelight. “Now, I do want to see these useless little things side by side. Can you just...yes, just like that, through his folds and just rest it there next to Geralt’s. Gods.”

It really is tremendous, seeing them juxtaposed so directly. Geralt’s is obviously smaller, but he’s not dwarfed by any standard. “You’re closer than I thought, truly,” he murmurs in awe, caressing both cockheads with a finger. “Eskel’s has more girth, but honestly, Geralt, yours seems to have every bit the length he’s showing. Of course, Eskel’s limp as a fish and you’re standing proud. You did notice that, didn’t you, Eskel? Geralt came not five minutes ago and _he’s_ erect, nonetheless. Don’t you think you ought to join him in that, darling? You’ve had all this time.” Jaskier reaches hand to brush Eskel’s hair away from his blushing face.

“I’m...I’m sorry,” he gasps out as Geralt thrusts lightly against him, frotting their little cocks together.

Jaskier kisses his temple. “That’s all right, love, it’s still a perfectly fine cocklet, if one only wanted the decoration.” Eskel moans, rubbing against Geralt with a bit more vigor. “I would like to see you _try_ to fuck him, though. I’m not easily dissuaded, you’ll find, once I’ve set my mind to something. Would you like that?”

“Yeah,” Eskel breathes, nodding feverishly.

“Good.” Jaskier slips his hand between their bodies, feels the familiar heavenly side of Geralt’s cunt. “He’s all nice and wet for you, love, feel how much he wants you. Doesn’t that spark something in you, darling? Having Geralt so ready for your sad little cock, even though he knows it most likely can’t satisfy him? You’re going to try for him, aren’t you?”

“I’ll try.”

Jaskier smiles, guiding Eskel’s soft cock to Geralt’s entrance. “It’s all right, I’m going to help you. You won’t be able to spear him on you, not with it so sweet and unassuming like this, but perhaps…” Gently, he pushes beneath the slick head. The flaccid shaft collapses on itself, but the head slips inside. “So good,” Jaskier coos, kissing Eskel’s shoulder. “You did so _well_ , darling, I didn’t think you could possibly penetrate anything in your state. Now, slowly– _slowly_ –press your hips flush to his. You won’t be able to thrust, I’m afraid, or you’ll slip right out, but you can stay right there, stay as far in him as you can, and you can grind against his cock, perhaps help him get off that way. How does that sound?”

There are tears in the corners of Eskel’s eyes as he sinks as far as he can into Geralt. “It’s good. _Fuck_.”

“What about you, Geralt?”

“I feel good.” He places a big, pale hand on the back of Eskel’s neck, pulling him closer so he can mouth at his neck and collarbone. “Feel good with you in me, wolf. Gonna keep your cock warm while Jask fucks you.”

 _Gods_ , but Jaskier loves Geralt.

“So kind of you, darling.” He climbs over the tangled limbs, positioning himself on his knees behind Eskel. He runs a hand down from the small of his back and lower, between his cheeks until he’s circling the wet crimson hole with two fingers. “Let’s see if Geralt was thorough with you, shall we?” he asks softly, slipping a finger easily inside, enjoying the sensation of his muscles clenching even without the burn of a stretch. A second finger joins the first as he plays with him, stretching his fingers to and fro, scissoring them gently before searching, pressing against him until Eskel lets out a little cry. “There we are.” Jaskier massages his prostate in small, consistent circles. “That’s what you’ve been missing all evening, isn’t it?”

“Yes, _fuck_.”

“Gods, so responsive.” He changes the rhythm, the direction, the pace, reveling in the minute differences in the noises his movements solicit. “I suppose I should have expected as much, a man who’s kept himself caged as long as you have is bound to have a most intimate relationship with his prostate. I’m sure you could come just from this, couldn’t you, darling?” 

Eskel just nods, wordless, his neck arching back.

“That’s lovely. But not yet, dear. You still want my cock, don’t you? I’ll take good care of you, darling. I know how to find this just as well without my fingers.”

Eskel’s trembling beneath him, and it’s intoxicating. “Yeah, I want your cock,” he grits out.

Jaskier doesn’t need any further invitation than that. He strokes his dick with a slick hand, moaning a little at the feeling on his rather neglected cock, then lines himself up, tapping his cockhead lightly against Eskel’s hole. “Now, remember, dear, your instinct is going to be to rock back hard against me, take as much of my cock as you can.”

“Yea, fuck, please Jaskier, I need…”

“Shh, darling, I know what you need. But if you do that, your sweet little flaccid cocklet will plop right out of poor Geralt, leave him all bereft. You don’t want to do that, do you? You want to make it good for Geralt too, try to get some use out of your useless little prick. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” Eskel cries. “I’ll be...I’ll be good, I’ll try to keep my worthless cock in Geralt, I’ll be good.’

Geralt pulls Eskel into a snarling kiss, hard and desperate and so arousing that Jaskier can’t help sliding into that strong, warm body, gripping the muscled meat of his ass and pulling him roughly apart, moaning at the sight of his cock sinking down to the hilt in the huge man.

The minute he begins to slowly draw back, Eskel’s hips chase him. Jaskier stops immediately, grabbing him by the hips hard. “What did we just say about that?”

“Sorry.” His voice is more a rasp than anything. “Sorry. It just felt good, I’m good now, it’s okay.”

“Did your baby cock slip out?”

“No, it stayed.”

“Good.” Still holding Eskel’s hips firmly in place, he pulls back and fucks back into him, establishing a slow, deliberate pace. True to his word, Eskel doesn’t fuck himself back on Jaskier’s cock again, only moving in the slightest little rocking motion to grind against Geralt.

“There you go, darling, just lie there and enjoy taking a real cock. It’s better, isn’t it, than that silly thing we’re trying desperately to keep inside Geralt? Perhaps you ought to apologize to him, poor thing truly drew the _short_ straw, as it were…”

Eskel nuzzles his face into the crook of Geralt’s neck, moaning. “ _Fuck._ Sorry you only get my pathetic cock, wolf.” He gasps as Jaskier changes his angle, thrusting directly against his prostate. “It’s not...not worth anything…”

Jaskier pounds into him harder, accelerating into a more demanding tempo. “You getting close, sweet Eskel? Going to dribble your silly useless cum in Geralt’s cunt? Give him a few good spurts? You won’t be able to fill him up, of course, but it’s the thought that counts, isn’t it?”

“Fuck, Jaskier!”

“There you go, darling, I’ve got you.” He stretches out over Eskel, anchoring himself on his thick shoulders and plowing him hard. “Are you going to fall apart on my cock, darling? Going to let your sweet little baby prick feel good for us?”

Eskel shakes violently through his climax with rough, punched-out breaths. Jaskier moans as Eskel contracts around him, hole tightening like a vice as Jaskier chases his pleasure, letting go with a cry shortly. He rests against Eskel’s warmth for a moment, placing a line of hungry, wet kisses along the back of his neck.

“You were perfect, darling,” he murmurs, panting. “You did such a lovely job; I know you were terrified to fuck Geralt, terrified you wouldn’t be good enough but you did it anyway, did everything I asked anyway. I’m so proud of you.”

He pulls out reluctantly, leaving the bed to grab the cloth from the basin, luckily warmed a bit since its last use, although it’s still cold on his cock as he cleans himself. He turns back to offer it to his beloved witchers.

Eskel is on his knees between Geralt’s still-spread legs, licking him clean of their blended cum as he strokes Geralt’s cocklet fast between his thumb and forefinger. Geralt lies back on the bed, white hair strewn around him on the pillow like moonlight streaming from a window. 

Jaskier smiles and climbs back into bed, curling into Geralt’s side and gently running his fingers through Eskel’s hair, content.


	21. Trans Geralt/Trans Jaskier, fuck-or-die noncon, improvised strap-on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _Omg it you’re into it please write more of the double transmasc prompt maybe + a strap on_
> 
> A continuation of [Chapter 5 of this work.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27720865/chapters/67900462)
> 
> CW: rape, fuck or die, being forced into raping someone else, violence, misgendering, reducing trans people to their genitals, highly gendered and weaponized words for trans genitals, trans man penetration, trans humiliation, object insertion. It’s dark. I just want y’all to know what you’re getting into.

“Here we go!” comes a cry, and a roar goes through the assembled bandits.

Geralt lifts his weary head. The bandits, having basically all spent over the past half-hour on Geralt and Jaskier, had grown bored of their captives’ show, but he can feel the invigoration flooding through them like a hive. From the crowd emerges a squat, balding man with a repulsive smile. He’s holding up a worn swordbelt sloppily tied around the tip of an empty beer bottle.

The man approaches as two of his companions manhandle Geralt to his knees. “Your pretty little bard girlfriend’s missing a cock, I can tell. She’s not one who likes feeling empty, is she? I can always sniff out a slut.”

The witcher gathers his remaining fortitude and spits in the man’s ugly face. “ _Fuck_ you.”

The man backhands him hard enough that he would fall backwards were it not for the two holding him up. “Thought you would have learned your place by now, cunt.” He works quickly, efficiently fastening the belt in a makeshift harness between his legs, around his waist, until the bottle stands out from his pale body, a cruel mockery of a cock.

“Little bard bitch!” one of the men cries out in a nasty singsong, “look what we made just for you.”

Jaskier just whimpers, eyes firmly shut, not even looking. Not even wanting to know what waits in store for him.

The man pulls the harness tight, adds a final knot before reaching around and jerking the bottle crudely. “It’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it, you sick cunt?” 

The mouth of the bottle rubs harshly against Geralt’s clit.

They drag Jaskier to him, forcing his legs open before they shove Geralt between them and down. With his wrists bound he can’t help himself from landing on Jaskier with the full weight of his body. The bard’s eyes are still squeezed closed.

Geralt rubs his face gently against Jaskier’s cheek. They’ve not been close enough to whisper since their capture. “It’s a bottle,” he rasps brokenly against him. Carefully, he thrusts his hips against Jaskier’s stomach, both to let him feel it in preparation and to coat it in the seed of the men above them pooled on his skin. _What’s a little more inside him now_ , Geralt thinks bitterly. He knows by now that it’s likely their only chance at lubrication. “It...it will hurt less if you can relax. It’s too big.”

Jaskier just nods his understanding.

“I...fuck. I’m sorry.”

Jaskier nods again, turning his head to the side.

“Fuck the bitch already!”

Geralt doesn’t respond to the outcry behind him, doesn’t do anything but let his head fall to Jaskier’s shoulder. _This is hell,_ he thinks dully. Not only can he not save the usually bright, vibrant boy beneath him, he’s forced to participate in his violation.

“I said _move_ you witcher scum!”

He feels the heavy kick to his ribs but doesn’t move. He’s a witcher. He’s had worse.

A hand drags him up. The cold bite of steel presses against his neck. “You’ll do as you’re told, witcher cunt, or you’ll not see dawn.”

This is better, really. He can’t save Jaskier, but at least he can spare him this.

“For gods’ sake, Geralt, do it.” 

Geralt lets out a sob to hear Jaskier speak.

The bard is staring up at him with furious tears in his eyes. “You’ll not _spare_ me, you noble idiot. You think if they slit your throat they’ll let me go once you bleed out on top of me?” He looks away for a moment, jaw tight, then whispers so low only a witcher could possibly hear it. “If it’s them they’ll hurt me worse than you ever would. You think I don’t know what you just did with the bottle, and why? You’ll mitigate the damage as best you can. They think it’s a game to force us to hurt each other; if they decide to do it themselves we won’t last long.”

They aren’t forcing them to hurt each other, though. They’re forcing Geralt to hurt Jaskier. There’s no reciprocity.

“So play along, if you want to help me, Geralt. Play along.”

He gives the smallest of nods and moves into position, thrusting his hips to rub the bottle along Jaskier’s slit. The bard grinds against it with a shudder.

This is right. Jaskier’s right, it’s just mitigating damage. Spread the slick, give Jaskier some friction to ease the way. 

It’s all he can do.

“Fucking plough her already, whore,” snarls one of the men, lining up the bottle and shoving Geralt’s hips hard.

Jaskier doesn’t hold back his wail as he’s stretched open on the glass.

Geralt rocks gently, angling the bottle as best he can to illicit some instinctual pleasure from the bard’s body. He makes a show of exaggerating his thrusts, flexing and relaxing his thighs and backside while keeping his hips moderately still while Jaskier adjusts to the intrusion as best he can.

After a few moments, Jaskier nods almost imperceptibly.

Geralt fucks into him, sliding more of the bottle in and out, careful not to pull back too far and risk having to penetrate him again. Jaskier is right. The longer they keep their captors engaged, the longer it will be before they decide on a new diversion.

“Harder, you dumb cow. Maybe you’ll shatter that inside her, carve us out a second cunt.”

A smattering of ugy laughter rises at that. Geralt feels the hate and bile rising in his throat.

He fucks Jaskier harder and prays to the gods he doesn’t believe in for rescue.


	22. Eskel/Jaskier, Geralt/Jaskier, extreme underage, noncon, watersports

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t have one set prompt for this; I got several prompts for a continuation of [Chapter 10 of this work](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27720865/chapters/68022424) both here and on tumblr. I’ve tried to incorporate most of what was requested but not everything made its way in there. 
> 
> Also huge shoutout to [witchertrashparty](https://witchertrashparty.tumblr.com), who talked through lots of the ideas you'll see here with me, so tons of credit for this definitely goes to her! Not only that, but she also just posted [a phenomenal fill](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28033794) of the same original prompt that I’d definitely encourage you to check out! 
> 
> CW: extreme underage, noncon, cockcages, watersports, threats of castration (brief), mentioned forced feminization, mentioned spanking, mentioned painplay, cockwarming

When Daddy first told him he wasn’t going back to school, Jaskier was distraught. It takes a few weeks, but slowly Jaskier starts to see how silly he’d been.

Now that he’s homeschooled, Jaskier gets to spend _so_ much more time with Daddy! Since Daddy works from home most of the time, he gets to be with him most of the day. He can help Daddy out when his thingy is cold, sitting on his knees under the desk and keeping him nice and warm while he works. When he doesn’t need that, Jaskier has his own drawer in the filing cabinet where he can keep his crayons and all his coloring books. He likes to sit in his corner and color and draw and write little stories about puppies or bats or unicorns.

He doesn’t have to wear clothes anymore at all; Daddy explained when he packed them away that he’d feel better without them, freer, and if he got cold Daddy would help him warm up; plus they wouldn’t have to do as much laundry anymore. With Jaskier’s new jewelry, too, it makes things easier: Jaskier needs help using the potty with his cockcage, so this way there’s less wait time, less fumbling with clothes. Jaskier has always liked being naked anyway, and he doesn’t want to be a burden, so it makes sense.

“I’m going to the store,” Daddy announces, and a cold chill goes through Jaskier. “No, it’s all right, baby, Daddy put out a puppy pad for you. And when I come back I’ll have a surprise for you.”

(The first time Daddy went to the store, he came back to Jaskier sitting beside the door bawling in a puddle of his own piss. He’d sat on the floor when Daddy left, full of unease; what if he didn’t come back? What if he met another little boy while he was out that he liked better than Jaskier? His anxiety wouldn’t let him get up to use the potty when he needed to, in case Daddy came home and he wasn’t there to greet him, so he squirmed for what felt like an hour before he gave up, helpless and scared, and peed on the cold tile like a very bad boy. When Daddy finally did come home to find the mess, he carried him to the bathroom and gave him a nice bubble bath, even fingered his little hole to calm him down and make him feel better, all while telling him what a good boy he was for loving his daddy so much, for wanting to be there to greet him when Daddy got home without even being told to. He still got a spanking that night, because going potty on the floor is against the rules, but Jaskier knew he deserved that, he was just glad Daddy wasn’t mad. And when Daddy put a puppy pad down by the door next time he had to leave Jaskier alone, in case he had another accident, he gave Daddy a big hug and kiss for being so nice to him.)

Jaskier plays with his Wolfie while he waits for Daddy to get home. Wolfie is his bestest friend, a grey stuffed wolf with pretty blue eyes big enough that Jaskier can pretend it’s a real puppy, a gift Uncle Eskel brought him not long after he first came to live with Daddy. “You’re our little pup now!” he’d told Jaskier, ruffling his hair and giving him a kiss. Uncle Eskel is _really_ nice. Jaskier knows it’s bad, knows Daddy would be mad at him if he ever told, but he likes Uncle Eskel better than Uncle Lambert. Every time Uncle Eskel comes to play with him, he brings him a surprise. Sometimes it’s a toy like Wolfie or his rainbow nightlight or his pretty unicorn plug, or sometimes it’s a yummy treat to eat, chocolate or ice cream or the big colorful lollipop that was almost as big as Jaskier’s head. Of course, Jaskier only gets the present if he’s a good boy during playtime, but that’s fair, bad boys can’t expect presents. Anyway, it’s easy to be a good boy for Uncle Eskel. Jaskier knows how to make him happy.

Uncle Lambert is confusing. Jaskier never knows what to expect when he comes for playtime. Sometimes it’s something silly or embarrassing, like when he made Jaskier wear a little pink dress and panties with lace and a headband and called him a pretty little girl before he put his thingy in, even though Jaskier giggled and told him, “But Uncle Lambert, I’m a _boy_!” That time wasn’t bad, it was just weird. He told his daddy about it that night and Daddy just laughed. “I bet you made a cute little girl,” he said. “Sometimes the things Uncle Lambert wants might feel silly, but you’ve got to remember that Daddy and your uncles all want what’s best for you. Even though it might not make sense to you right now, remember that we’re grown ups and we know what’s okay, so it’s important to listen and obey. Right, sweetheart?” Jaskier nodded.

Jaskier tries to remember what Daddy said every time Uncle Lambert comes over, but even though he knows Uncle Lambert knows what’s best for him, sometimes it’s scary anyway. Jaskier’s used to spankings with the belt and the paddle when he’s bad, but sometimes Uncle Lambert makes it hurt even when Jaskier thinks he’s being good. Daddy always explains what Jaskier did that was bad before he punishes him, but Uncle Lambert doesn’t tell him so he can be better next time. Sometimes it’s extra spankings but with a thin little stick that makes a _whoosh_ sound before it hits Jaskier that leaves ugly marks on his bottom and legs. Sometimes it’s little clips to squeeze his nipples or his balls that Uncle Lambert likes to rip off. And sometimes he just _says_ scary things that Jaskier doesn’t understand, doesn’t know how to answer. “Your daddy should chop off these useless little things so you stay like this,” he said one night, pulling really hard on Jaskier’s balls while he fucked him fast and brutal. “Keep you smooth all over, keep your voice nice and high and pretty. You want that, baby? Want me to take these off for you?” Jaskier sobbed until his daddy came in and reminded him he was supposed to be good for Uncle Lambert.

But sometimes afterward Uncle Lambert helps him build a castle out of blocks.

Jaskier perks up, hearing Daddy’s truck pull into the garage. He bounces up and down, all nervous, ecstatic energy. Not only is Daddy home, but he has a _surprise_. Jaskier feels the warm pee hit the dome of his little cage, but he can’t help it, he’s so excited!

The door opens as Daddy comes in, weighed down with grocery bags. “Look who I found that wants to see you, Jaskier.”

Jaskier squeals in delight. “Uncle Eskel!” He flings himself into his uncle’s arms, big enough to catch him easily even though he’s helping Daddy carry groceries.

“Hey little guy!” Eskel laughs, hugging him and giving him a nice, slow kiss, his tongue big and soft. “Oh no, looks like you had a little accident.”

Jaskier looks down in terror, seeing the drops of pee dripping from his cage onto Uncle Eskel’s red shirt. “I’m sorry!” he squeaks, horrified. “I didn’t mean to, I wasn’t thinking…”

Daddy laughs from the kitchen. “He’s all yours.”

Uncle Eskel rubs his back soothingly. “It’s all right, bud, you were just happy to see us, huh? No harm no foul. You ready for playtime now, or do you wanna wait until after dinner?”

(That’s another thing Jaskier likes about Uncle Eskel. He always asks Jaskier what he wants to do, too.)

Jaskier considers. If he waits until after dinner, Uncle Eskel will probably leave as soon as playtime’s over. “Let’s play now!”

Eskel grins, ruffling his hair. “Such a little trooper,” he says, leaning in for another lingering kiss before moving from the foyer to the kitchen and putting the bags down on the countertop. “Wolf, you need anything before I get some quality time in with the little guy?”

Daddy looks up from the fridge, gallon of milk in hand. “Nah, go ahead. I’ll finish putting these up then get dinner started. How’s spaghetti sound, Jaskier?”

“I _love_ spaghetti!” Daddy makes the _very_ best spaghetti in the world. Jaskier’s so lucky.

Daddy just laughs. “Be good for Uncle Eskel. I don’t want to hear about any backtalk or saying no. Got it?”

“Yes Daddy.”

Eskel takes him to the special bedroom down the hall, past Daddy’s room where Jaskier usually sleeps. This room is just for playtime when one of his uncles comes over.

Tossing Jaskier playfully on the bed, making him shriek happily, Eskel pulls his shirt over his head and hangs it over the back of the chair. Jaskier just watches, playing absently with his little cage. Uncle Eskel has jewelry, too, little silver rings that shine in his dark soft chest hair that Jaskier likes to snuggle up to. They’re pretty. Jaskier likes to touch them, sometimes, and Uncle Eskel says it feels good.

Uncle Eskel kicks off his boots and strips off his pants and boxers in one motion. He rubs his thingy, long and thick even though it hasn’t started standing up yet. Uncle Eskel has a bigger cock than Daddy or Uncle Lambert. The first time he wanted to put it in Jaskier’s hole it was really scary, but Uncle Eskel always makes sure he feels good first.

He lays back on the bed, pulling Jaskier to straddle him. “I think you get prettier every time I see you,” Uncle Eskel says, smiling up at Jaskier and running his big hands all over so his whole body feels nice and warm. “Want to show me what that pretty mouth can do, little guy?”

Jaskier scurries to obey. He turns around so he’s facing his uncle’s thingy, knowing that sometimes Eskel likes to look at or even play with Jaskier’s butt while he’s sucking on him. He puts both little hands on the cock. It’s heavy in his hands. He starts licking the top where the white stuff comes out, _like an ice cream cone,_ Uncle Eskel had explained the first time he did it. He likes that. Ice cream is yummy. Sometimes when he gets bored during this part he imagines what each different flavor would taste like.

He feels it twitch in his hands, getting a little stiffer.

Now he opens his mouth really big and lowers his mouth around the top, sucking on it. _Have you ever a...what are those called...a Tootsie Pop? Yeah, like a Tootsie Pop. You can suck on it like a Tootsie Pop or lick like an ice cream cone_. That’s what’s so great about Uncle Eskel. He always makes sure Jaskier understands. Nobody else takes the time to talk him through things like that.

“So good,” he hears Uncle Eskel moan, “doing such a good job for me, sweetheart.”

Jaskier sucks happily, closing his eyes. Raspberry is the best flavor of Tootsie Pop, so he imagines raspberry.

He feels the plug slowly pulled out of his hole, the wet of Daddy’s cum from this morning dripping out with it. Uncle Eskel pushes two of his fingers in, rubbing them around with a groan. “So sweet, staying nice and open for your Daddy’s cock.” His fingers open up like a V inside Jaskier, stretchy and nice. “But maybe we should stretch you a little bit more. What do you think?”

Jaskier pulls off the cock with a slurp. “Gotta stretch more ‘cause your thingy is the biggest, Uncle Eskel!” he giggles, feeling the vibrations radiating out from that broad chest when Eskel makes a low, guttural noise. Jaskier’s told his uncle this before, but he likes to ask every time for some reason. 

“That’s right, little guy.” He pushes another finger in, and Jaskier bounces back happily on it. It feels _good_. Uncle Eskel always makes sure Jaskier feels that explosion in his tummy, even without touching his little cage. “Gotta stretch you out more so you can take my big thingy.”

Jaskier goes back to sucking on his cock, which is standing up all by itself now. He rubs his hands up and down the part that looks like a pole and licks the little hole at the top, tasting the wet part that means he’s doing a good job. He sinks his mouth a little further on it, sucking harder, moving his head up and down a little.

Sucking on Uncle Eskel’s thingy is different than with Daddy or Lambert, and not just because it’s bigger. Uncle Eskel doesn’t shove his head down like they do and push it in real far in his throat. It’d be okay if he wanted to; Jaskier is a lot better at it now, doesn’t choke or cough or gag like he used to. But Uncle Eskel always seems to be okay with this, just like he showed him the first time, so that’s what Jaskier does.

“That’s really nice, baby,” Uncle Eskel murmurs, tapping on his ass gently. “You did a really good job with that. Want to let me kiss your little hole next?”

“Yeah!” He scrambles up to lay his head down on the pillows, his round little bottom in the air. He likes this part! The first time Uncle Eskel asked to do it he was really confused, but it’s nice! Uncle Eskel’s tongue is big and soft and smart, it knows all the right places to lick to make Jaskier’s tummy feel like it has butterflies in it.

Uncle Eskel sucks gently at his rim before fucking his tongue inside and groaning as he licks inside the wet warmth. He really seems to love this part, all those long open-mouth kisses just like he gives to Jaskier’s mouth, except Jaskier thinks this way he’s got to be licking some of Daddy’s white stuff out of him. That’s okay, though. Jaskier has learned to like Daddy’s white stuff, so maybe Uncle Eskel has too.

This is his favorite part, when Uncle Eskel licks at the outside while he’s putting his fingers in, two, three, opening him up wider and wider until he can get four. Jaskier pushes back against his hand, taking the fingers further and further into him, frustrated little whimpers escaping when he can’t get it exactly how he wants it.

He hears a breathy little laugh from Uncle Eskel. “Looking for something there, bud?”

“Uncle Eskel,” he whines, and he knows he shouldn’t whine, Daddy doesn’t like that but Uncle Eskel says it’s cute, “press the spot.”

“What spot is that, sweetheart?”

“The _good_ one!” Uncle Eskel _knows_ what he’s talking about, he’s just teasing him. “The ‘splosion spot.”

Eskel just laughs again, leaning over that little body to suck at Jaskier’s neck. “That want you want, baby? An explosion?”

Jaskier’s panting, he’s so _close_ , if Uncle Eskel would just move his fingers just a little… “Yes, please?”

Uncle Eskel’s lips and tongue are on his ear now, sucking, licking, feel so good. “Is that what it’s called, sweetheart?” He brings a hand down to fondle Jaskier’s little balls gently. “Is that what big boys call it?”

“No.”

“I know you’re still little, Jask, but can you ask me like a big boy?”

Jaskier lets out a high whine. “Uncle Eskel, will you please let me come?”

“ _Fuck_ , baby,” and there it is, Eskel’s fingers curving just right, right then, pressing hard as he fucks into him.

Jaskier feels it, a cry ripped from his lips as his whole little body shakes. “Thank you Uncle Eskel,” he whimpers, “thank you thank you thank you thank you…”

Eskel moves back to make out with his hole again, his moans vibrating through him. He slows his hand, not pulling it out, just gently rocking him. “Good baby,” he breathes, “such a perfect little guy. Do you want my cock while you lay like that, Jaskier, or wanna ride me?”

Jaskier’s whole body still feels tingly, so much so he almost chooses to stay in his current position, but he pushes himself up to all fours. “Ride!” he says, bouncing up and down on the bed. “I wanna see.”

Eskel just laughs, laying down on his back and lubing his dick. “Up you go, then.” He helps guide Jaskier down slowly, slipping inch by inch down until he’s fully seated on Eskel’s hips.

“Look,” Jaskier breathes in wonder, pressing into his abdomen where the outline is visible through his skin. He loves this part. “It’s like an x-ray.”

Eskel lets out a slow breath. “Yeah,” he agrees softly. “It kinda is, huh?” His square hands grip Jaskier’s hips carefully, lifting him slowly up then back down his cock while Jaskier tracks the bulge in his tummy with his hand.

Eskel speeds up, rutting up into him as pulls him back down on him. He doesn’t usually last long like this, not with Jaskier cooing in awe at the outline in the belly, his little caged cock bouncing so prettily. Eskel pounds into him desperately, letting out a strangled cry as he floods the boy’s hole with his hot cum.

Jaskier waits patiently on his cock, careful not to relax any muscles as Eskel catches his breath. With a groan, Eskel rolls them over, his cock still in place as he plants Jaskier on the bed ass up. He pulls his softening dick out slowly, replacing it with the plug that seems smaller now than it did before as Jaskier twitches around it, finding the right pressure to keep it lodged within him.

He rolls onto his back, looking up with a big grin. “Did I do good, Uncle Eskel?” Daddy would tell him to stop fishing for compliments, but Uncle Eskel says it’s cute that he wants to please him.

Eskel presses him back down into the bed, kissing him hard, his tongue exploring Jaskier’s mouth. Jaskier likes Uncle Eskel’s kisses. “You did so good, sweetheart,” Eskel mutters against his lips. “Just one more thing to do, right? You gonna be good one more time for your favorite uncle?”

Jaskier looks up at him in shock. He hasn’t _told_ anybody that Eskel’s his favorite, he just thought it. “Can you read minds?” He hopes not. There are some things he thinks that wouldn’t make any of them happy, not Daddy, not Uncle Lambert, not even Uncle Eskel.

But Uncle Eskel just laughs like he told a joke. “It’s our little secret. Scout’s honor.” He smiles, raising three fingers.

Jaskier smiles back, a little unsure, but he thinks it’s probably okay if Uncle Eskel knows he’s his favorite, as long as Lambert doesn’t know he _isn’t._

“You remember the last step, don’t you?” Eskel prods gently.

“Yeah.” Jaskier climbs down to stand on the floor. Uncle Eskel is on his knees on the bed in front of him, holding his thingy. It’s still red, but it’s not as hard anymore, and it looks a little slimy.

“Mouth open.”

Jaskier obediently opens his mouth, cleaning the big thingy with his tongue as best he can. When he’s finished, he stills, his mouth hollowed around the cock.

“Ready, sweetheart?”

Jaskier nods and tries not to pull a face when the gross, salty piss fills his mouth, tries not to choke on it when it’s too much to hold, when he tries to swallow.

That’s the only bad thing about Uncle Eskel.

Dinner is great. Daddy’s spaghetti and meatballs are the best, and Uncle Eskel tells Daddy what a good boy Jaskier was for him during playtime, and Daddy smiles and says he’s proud of him. 

When Jaskier finishes his dinner, he takes his plate to the sink.

“Jaskier, Daddy’s cock is cold.” Daddy smiles at him, scooting his chair back from the table and pulling his thing out of his pants.

Jaskier hurries between his legs and sucks Daddy’s cock into his mouth with a contented sigh as Daddy and Uncle Eskel continue their boring grown-up conversation above. The tile is cold beneath his legs, but it’s nice to hold something nice and soft and velvety in his mouth. Like a pacifier when he was a baby, or like his plug but for his mouth instead. He rests his head against Daddy’s thigh, and long fingers card through his hair kindly, lovingly, letting him know he’s doing a good job.

Time goes a little fuzzy when he’s being Daddy’s cockwarmer. He doesn’t go to sleep, really, but he feels a little groggy when Daddy taps his head gently, letting him know he can get up.

“It’s almost time to get ready for bed, Jaskier, but you can play with Uncle Eskel a little bit longer before he goes home.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

Daddy gives him a kiss. “Do you want to show Eskel the wolf you colored?”

Jaskier beams. “I colored him _rainbow_ , Uncle Eskel!” He darts off to get the page currently hanging on the bulletin board by Daddy’s desk. When he returns, he can’t help the gasp he lets out.

On the kitchen table is the most beautiful sight Jaskier has ever seen, little tea cups and saucers and plates and a teapot in beautiful pastel pinks and purples and blues. “What’s this?” he asks, his voice reverent.

“It’s a tea party set,” Uncle Eskel says, kneeling down so he’s the same height as Jaskier. “I saw it with all those unicorns on it, and I thought, ‘You know who would love this? My favorite nephew.’” He winks at Jaskier when he says _favorite_.

“Your Uncle Eskel is determined to spoil you rotten.” Daddy leans against the counter with his arms crossed, but he doesn’t look mad. “But since you were such a good boy for Uncle Eskel during playtime and such a good cockwarmer for me, I guess you deserve it.”

Jaskier kisses Eskel, then runs to hug Daddy’s legs. “Thank you so much,” he says, looking back and forth between his daddy and uncle. “Can...can I play with it now?”

“‘Course, sweetheart, it’s yours.” 

Jaskier goes to work, carefully setting a place for him and Uncle Eskel and Wolfie. Daddy’s washing the dishes so he doesn’t join them, but Uncle Eskel even sneaks a few real cookies onto their plates when Daddy isn’t looking!

They sit down to their tea party, and Jaskier reaches for the teapot. “Oh, I knew we forgot something,” Eskel says, taking the pot. “We forgot the tea!” 

Daddy stops washing dishes, turns around to watch.

Uncle Eskel takes the teapot and takes off its lid before unzipping his pants and taking out his thingy. He sets it against the opening of the teapot, and a second later Jaskier can hear the little hiss as he goes potty, filling it up and replacing the lid. He picks up Jaskier’s teacup and pours some tea before handing it back to Jaskier.

The thin plastic is warm beneath his hands.

Uncle Eskel sits back down, smiling encouragingly as Jaskier. “I know you’re still struggling with drinking it during playtime,” he explains, “so now you get to practice! You can take as many small drinks as you need to, it’ll help you get used to it and then it won’t choke you.”

Jaskier beams at him. Uncle Eskel always explains things so he understands. “Thank you for the tea, Uncle Eskel,” Jaskier says in a proper, formal, tea-party-appropriate voice. With his pinky crooked, he takes a sip, careful not to make a face at the taste. “Mmm, delicious,” he says, patting daintily at the corner of his mouth with a napkin.

Daddy and Uncle Eskel grin at each other as he takes another sip, and another. It’s not so bad now that he’s getting used to it. Before long he’s drained the cup. He looks back and forth between them before asking, “Please Uncle Eskel, may I have some more?”

Both groan at the question, and Jaskier smiles. That’s a good noise.

Uncle Eskel pours him another cup, and Jaskier tries bigger sips this time. _I’ll practice,_ Jaskier thinks, _so next time Uncle Eskel wants to have a tea party I’ll be able to drink a whole glass of his tea in one sip. He'll be so proud of me._

He takes a sip and smiles.

Jaskier doesn’t remember why he was upset, before. It’s so much better here.


End file.
